


Sealed by Fate

by thejapanesemapletree



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bros Shiro and Keith, I know nothing about surfing or Texas or tourism: a fic, M/M, Selkie!Lance, Selkies, Surfer!Keith, Surfing, also how do you write Lance when he can't run his mouth: a fic, also semi-mute Lance, puns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-04-07
Packaged: 2018-10-11 06:43:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10457841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thejapanesemapletree/pseuds/thejapanesemapletree
Summary: “Do you remember the myths about seal women… Selkies?”(Or: Keith finds a selkie named Lance and shenanigans ensue.)





	1. The Brown Log

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired a 'LIL by Robert Bly's "The Dead Seal Near MCClure's Beach", and a LOT by @definition-of-awkward's prompt on tumblr!

Keith crouched down and waited.

          He kept his eyes on the horizon slightly white from the froth of the outer-sea waves, and slightly blue from the backdrop of the sky. What little movement in the nearby water lapped at the edges of his surfboard, and with each nudge slowly soaked up the legs of his bathing suit to the dry sections around his waistband; the water had been so still he did not bother ducking under the swells near the shore, and that left the starchy bathing suit material rubbing the sensitive skin near his navel. Keith muttered a curse and sat back up.

          Maybe the weather man had been wrong. Keith had been in such a hurry to grab his board and spend all the time on his lunchbreak he could on the waves that he did not check again to see if the tropical storm to the east would send larger waves his way.

          A hop in his surfboard drew him from sulking. Out near the distant rocks, one of the incoming waves caught on the jetty, and in a flurry like birds startled from a meadow, turned over itself into a spiral that glistened in the sun.

          Perfect.

          Keith dipped his arms into the water. He felt the suck of the wave as it rode his way, and he began to paddle away as the swell reached its zenith, until he was practically on top of it and could take the hesitation to hop to his feet. He stood expertly, like so many times before, with a balance that did not happen so fluidly like when his brother Shiro rose on his surfboard, but rather rashly, with a held intensity that seemed as quick to fall apart as the waves when they met the shore: that matched the waves as they spun and sprayed and he skirted the edge with his board like a knife on whetstone. However, when Keith did meet the shore, he had the option to hop off, and allowed his board the length of its tether to finish the water’s motion and wash against the sand.

          Keith shook out his hair, now comfortably wet and exhilarated. He picked up his board from its resting place on the sand. He turned back towards the ocean, where he could see another wave hitting the jetty and growing turbulent.

          The weather man had not been wrong after all.

          .

          Keith stepped out of the shower stall, in that awkward state of his clothes being dry and his hair being wet and the later causing his collar to dampen and stick against him with the wind. Although it was not the most ideal appearance to have at work, his coworkers had to be used to it by now; Keith was not one to fuss much with his hair, and tying it up would just make it dry slower and knot into a crinkled mess. What was more important to him was his surfboard, and that it got placed safety into the backroom away from customers who wanted to ask about it or had the audacity to touch it. For reasons unknown to him, the red lion decal and its presumed texture was prime reason for people running their fingers all over it.

          Upon entering his place of employment, Keith was once again greeted by that smell he wished he could forget: that odd mix of the plastic used on cheap kites, screen-printed shirts, and stiff carpet only tourist shops had, and that made Keith’s skin itch until he got used to it.  It also did not help that on his way to the front he would often encounter piles of t-shirts left in disarray as customers carded through them, and he would have to spend ten minutes at the table grumbling to himself and putting the shirts back in order. It was one of the many reasons he wished some business where the tourists did not go like the DMV or water treatment plant would hire him, but that was a woe for another time when he felt mad enough at Shiro to berate suckering his girlfriend into giving Keith a job.

          Pidge, the shop’s resident cashier with a nickname, was hard at work scrubbing out the hermit crabs’ cage. In Keith’s mind, she—a freshman in high school—was a little too young to have a job at all, but her excuse was that she needed the money for the electronics she liked to tinker with. Keith had no idea in the world why, considering both her father and brother worked at the nearby university for a salary in multitudes of hers, but he decided not to question it. Maybe she liked the discussions she could have with Hunk about this or that she was building, and how he thought she could make it better.

          She must have noticed he was there, because she called to the office behind the counter that “Keith’s back!” and went on with her scrubbing. Keith sat on the stool for the second register, where beside it the hermit crabs scurried around the bottom of a plastic pan.

          “Allura’s here today,” Pidge explained her announcement of his return. “Shiro and Hunk went out to teach a group of little kids.”

          Keith looked sidelong out the window, viewing a patch of beach. An outcropping of rocks near the shop created an area almost like a bay, where the water was warm and still and people could learn to stand on surfboards quite easily. Keith could just make out the outlines of Shiro and Hunk amongst a crowd of smaller ones. Who must have been Hunk was helping one of the children balance on a kiddie board, while Shiro was crouched low and demonstrating the paddling form needed to combat a wave. Parents sat along the shoreline and watched the demonstration, resting on colorful towels with their toes being brushed by the water and coolers full of snacks behind them. The child on the board wavered and nearly fell were it not for Hunk, and Keith looked away. He remembered what it had been like to first learn, and he wanted to save himself the memory.

          “Which reminds me.” Pidge tried to snap, which did not really work with rubber gloves on. “Allura wanted you to make sure the new surfboard’s waxed and hang it up.”

          Keith had hoped that box in the storage room was a new clothing rack he did not have to mess with, but he should have known with so many boards being sold last week he would have no such luck. Keith exhaled and rose from the stool, going around the counter to retrieve the ladder and surfboard.

          “Shiro got it out before he left—it’s really nice,” Pidge added. “It has blue wave designs on it or something.”

          “Sounds cool,” Keith departed with that, and Pidge now went to drying the cage.

          Although many of the surfboard designs they sold were pretty, Keith did not linger on them too much. He had his own and every surfboard they had would be sold, never to be seen again, eventually. It was part of the weird paradox of working at the shop: only those who stayed worked here, but only those who left shopped here.

The surfboard would be gone in the next month or so.

          .

          Sunset was always the best time to surf.

          Then, the sun did not beat down on Keith’s shoulders and cast hot reflections off the water. And unlike at sunrise, the sand and water were still warm, like blood, and Keith could dip into the water and not freeze even as the air chilled and the coming dark pulled him towards the shore. The best part was when the sun sat halfway down the horizon, when the waves would tinge gold and roll together like a platter of champagne flutes. It was almost like a different ocean then, made up in this world of mysterious reds and oranges that bubbled and clashed and sank into the darkness. Keith would ride until the sea extinguished the sun and the water turned a deep purple and the moon overtook the sky. It was almost like Keith’s mother when she would turn on the porch light and call in him and Shiro from searching for crabs and shells in the dark. The pang of remembering her face and shape against the doorway from what seemed like so long ago would always come with the moon, and that feeling meant it was time to leave the ocean for another day and return home.

          After work, Keith bid Hunk and Pidge and Allura farewell, and told Shiro he would come home after sunset and that he did not need the entrance light to be kept on for him. Shiro said that was alright, but Keith knew as he watched his brother leave on his bike that he would keep all the living room lights on instead. Shiro was sneaky like that, with every excuse he could think of about late-night television and cleaning the house all too ready on his tongue to justify his continued care of Keith even as they lived a household apart. If keeping all the lights on somehow comforted Shiro, Keith did not want to deny him that, but he also had to know that Keith was an independent adult not in need of smothering.

          Keith took to his usual spot on the beach, halfway between work and halfway between home, where every so often a decent wave would swell, and Keith could ride it until it collapsed onshore. The storm to the east continued to rattle up the ocean into larger, more powerful waves long into the evening, to the point Keith tired and chose to wrap up his activities early.

A sizeable sliver of sun still glistened over the horizon as Keith packed up his bag and carried his surfboard under his arm. A towel around his neck caught the droplets of seawater from his hair before they could slide to his shirt and chill with the night.

Before the university had moved a town over, the neighborhood of Keith’s house had been a popular place for students to rent near the beach: it was not hard to tell the buildings made into apartments and offices were in the shells of closed takeout restaurants and cafés, and a dock for parking jet skis still jutted out into the water. It was nearly useless now, with moss-slick planks and many of the rocks used to bank it lost to the sand. The only one Keith saw use it now was his old neighbor, the one between him and Shiro, when the notion of fly fishing appealed to him.

The wet wood of the dock glittered in the lingering light as Keith made to walk past it, and dark shadows below made the rocks in the small alcove an indiscernible mass. Keith looked away from the dock in favor of home, ignoring it to be forgotten.

Something like a gargled bark startled him.

Keith whirled around, not knowing exactly where the noise came from, and wondering if he had accidentally frightened a dog in the dying light. Although, when he looked back on the beach, he saw no such animal, and turned different ways to check. He frowned as the only sign of others was the flicking on of lights in the beachside homes. Keith fixed his bag back onto his shoulder and returned to his path home, convincing himself it was nothing to be bothered with.

Until again: a bark.

Only, if he stopped to think about it, it sounded more like hacking. And this time he heard it echo from the space near the dock. The possibility of an animal poking around there, alone, like they were not supposed to be caused Keith to hesitate, and he debated the ethics of what to do in such a situation. In the end, the tender parts of his personality won out, and he dropped his bag and stuck his board into the sand. If the dog was skittish Keith would have to coax it towards him, and that required open arms.

Keith ran the edge of the shore to the bottom of the dock, just out of reach of the water. Here, a support of the dock took the brute of the tide, with moss climbing nearly to the top and over the immediate rocks. The smell of the moss and clacking sounds of the dock became more prominent as he approached. He tried peering thought the darkness of the alcove. He did not know if a dog could get wedged under there, like the log washed up by the support.

No. Not a log.

A man.

Keith had that same jerking surprise as when something fell unexpectedly in the night. The man had such a formless shape from a distance that Keith did not notice he was a living, breathing thing until he was a few feet away, and his alarm caused him to stumble back. The man had his face turned away and did not react to the noise of Keith jumping, and for a few more seconds Keith thought him to be dead. But, when he mustered up the courage to creep forward, he saw the quiver of flesh when he breathed, and Keith sighed in relief.

He was odd, really.

The man lied on his side away from Keith, his head turned towards the sand and one arm tucked under him like a broken wing. The other stretched out above him, and in the slants of light over his palm and shoulder Keith could see how brown his skin was, which probably contributed to his mistaken identity as a log. His hair was long enough to fall sideways and dark, although how dark Keith could not quite tell. He wore no clothes, but something tangled around his legs that might have been fabric.

That was the oddest thing of all. What Keith could only guess was a flour sack ran from his thighs to below his feet, where a knot at the end kept it together. A black ichor Keith at first feared was blood, but upon closer examination saw it was too shiny for that, coated the sack and halfway up the man’s back. Keith braved to graze his fingers along the substance, and found it was also too thick for blood.

At the touch, the man jerked upright so quickly that Keith nearly fell into the surf. The man whipped around, clutching feverishly at the sack. Keith stared at him in question, and almost wished he had not.

The man had eyes as bright as the coins in a mall fountain. His brow furrowed and his nostrils flared, and Keith recognized at once that he was trying to be threatening and that touching him was a mistake. The man did not lash out, but looked like he maybe wanted to.

What saved Keith was the man opening his mouth to speak, but instead of words, black liquid erupted in its place. The man collapsed to the side and coughed violently, making a terrible sound similar to what had drawn Keith down to the dock—like a dog suffocating on something it should not have swallowed. He retched, but the motion caught in his throat, and his breathing went sporadic as he choked on his own spit and fell again to the sand. Keith rushed towards him, speaking the only thing that came to him.

“Are—Are you okay?”

No, he clearly was not, but his dumb mind did not know what else to say. Keith knew he had to act, and if that meant getting closer and touching the man again, well—be damned.

Keith pried the man’s face off the sand. The man’s eyes widened, and he squealed with warning, and he had enough fight left in him that Keith was forced to sit on him and wrestle his arms away. Although, for what Keith had to do he needed at least one hand free, and that led to Keith betting on surprise and letting one of the man’s arms go to shove a finger down his throat.

The man made the most awful, inhuman shrieking noise that for a moment Keith’s brain numbed, and he did not notice the fingernails raking into his arm until they left bleeding marks all the way to his wrist. He shoved off and backed away, the man in a single movement turning and vomiting onto the beach. Watching him regurgitate a pile of black gunk almost made Keith sick himself, and the searing pain in his arm did not help. He looked down at the deep scratches in his flesh, and he bit back a swear as he pinpointed the particularly painful sections with sand he would have to wash out later.

Exhausted, the man vomited a final time, until he could not find the strength to anymore and just lied on his side. His whole body convulsed as he breathed, the move towards tranquility gradual and not easily accepted. The man’s face finally softened. Keith assessed his display of weakness as genuine, and he approached the man again, smoothing back his anger at being injured while he was trying to be helpful.

He reached his better arm out towards the man, and he was not swatted away, either because of quiet reverence or true fatigue Keith did not know. It did not honestly matter which, as long as he did not scratch him again, and if the man remaining limp as Keith hooked their arms together was anything to go by, he was not planning to. He merely kept a firm grip around the sack as Keith dragged him away from the dock, his eyes shut and words unspoken.

Keith woefully had to leave his bag and surfboard on a strip of public beach for the time being, but he at least had the mind not to try to hunt for keys amongst a duffle bag and carried them in his pocket. He more or less kicked his door open, stumbling over the doorstop when the man’s sack caught on the side. Luckily, Keith had the reflexes to save them both, and the man reached his couch without further damage.

And Keith got time to think.

His heartbeat was hammering in his throat, so he had to wait for that to quell. In the meantime, he went and collected his things from the beach, the light just enough for him to be able to find them and not have to wait until morning. He also cleaned and bandaged his wounds in the bathroom, and the act of care was the one to calm him from all the excitement of the night.

The immediate happenings he could understand, but the reasons behind them he could not: Why was a man down by the dock? Why was he only wearing a sack? Why was he covered in—whatever? Keith stuck on a band-aid a little too roughly and winced.

The only solution was to ask him.

Keith had spoken to the man but once during the entire ordeal, and he supposed that was quite rude of him. He had also left him alone on his couch, not that the man had objected or even moved since he was placed there. He looked peacefully asleep, with his breathing leveled out from before and hand no longer on the sack.

Keith stepped as close as he dared, scanning the man in the light of his living room. Now he could make out the subtle details he could not before, like the slope of his nose and pointed shape of his jaw and the long sand-dusted eyelashes against his cheek. His skin was a deep tan, and with the way he lied the speckles on his shoulder were just visible; it was like the spots on a brown chicken egg. Looking lower Keith became aware of how nude he was, and he hurried with a flushed face to pull the extra blanket from his closet. Keith was not one to keep anything he though he did not need, and he only kept the other blanket because it had been a birthday present from Shiro—a knot-tie blanket he had made himself. Keith covered the man with the blanket to keep him decent, leaving the dirty sack crumpled around his feet exposed.

And he realized it was not a flour sack at all.

Keith had never seen a seal in person, but he remembered from pictures enough of their appearance to recognize the way their skin folded and glistened like velvet, and the split-tail at the end he had thought was a knot. For a moment, Keith did not care that the seal pelt was not his and that it was frightfully dirty, and he snatched it up from the couch in sheer disbelief. The man did not wake to stop him, and Keith turned over the pelt in his hands, viewing the spots like the ones on the man’s shoulders. It did not take long after that for Keith to notice the black slick had covered his hands, and when he brought it close to sniff, he gagged. It smelled like rot and gasoline, and Keith dropped the pelt to the coffee table.

He had to get Shiro.

Whatever was happening, he would know what to do, like he always did. He could come in with a clear head, his thoughts not marred by the confusion of the night and the questions that buzzed around Keith’s head. Unlike Keith, Shiro could narrow his focus with something other than anger, and that was something Keith could admire.

.

“It’s… oil.” Shiro inspected the black gunk spread over one finger. “Crude oil, I think.”

Keith had reiterated to Shiro all the events that had transpired truthfully, and yet his brother’s brow remained risen skeptically. Keith crossed his arms and shifted his weight to one leg, while Shiro lied the pelt out across his arms to look at it closer.

“So, he swallowed it?”

“He must have.” Shiro eyed the spots he could see under the oil, then the bit of the man’s shoulder poking over the blanket to make the connection. “I wonder… Where would he run into crude oil?”

“It’s Texas, where _won’t_ you run into oil?”

“That’s not what I mean,” Shiro began, but shook his head, not in the mood to explain his reasoning. Instead, he rested the pelt out on the coffee table gently.

“Also, why would he have a seal pelt instead of clothes?”

Keith’s face suddenly went hot, and he turned his head sideways so Shiro would not see, although Shiro was still busy with the pelt.

“I d’know,” Keith half-mumbled. “But… Do you remember when we’d go out to look for mermaids?”

That did cause Shiro to look up, and Keith flushed brighter. Shiro saw, and he smiled softly, sparing Keith by turning back to the pelt.

“I do remember. You’ve always had a thing for the mysterious, and you were convinced that since we lived by the ocean, it would be easiest to find mermaids.”

“That’s before I realized how big the ocean is,” Keith corrected a little testily; he paused. “… Do you remember when we would go down to the library to research mermaids and folklore and stuff?”

Shiro glanced at him again, unsure where he was going with his words. Keith fiddled with the collar of his shirt, meeting Shiro’s eyes briefly.

“Do you remember the myths about seal women… Selkies?”

It was not often that Shiro lost his words, but for an uncomfortably long time, that did it for him. Keith buckled slightly under his unwavering gaze, floundering to give an explanation.

“I mean—a lot of the pieces fit. I found him by the ocean, and he doesn’t have clothes, just that pelt, which could be like the Selkie coat he slipped out of. I’m not saying he necessarily is, considering I don’t know about men being Selkies, but it makes a lot of sense— “

“Whoa—Keith.” In the middle of Keith’s rambling, Shiro’s mouth finally caught up with his brain. “Calm down, buddy… Take a breather.”

Keith exhaled, and it came out hoarse. Shiro offered him a comforting touch Keith did not bat away. He took a moment to stare at the pelt and control his breathing. He covered Shiro’s hand with his own.

“Just… What if he _is?”_

He sounded either excited or terrified at the prospect, and Shiro knew both emotions could tilt his temperament in unreasonable ways. Shiro allowed Keith to grip his hand until the tension in his shoulders relaxed and his hold released. Shiro petted his shoulder gently, which seemed to soothe Keith further.

Shiro used the sweetest voice he could muster, “Don’t worry about that right now. You’ve done all you can for him. When he wakes up, you can ask him—just like that. And if you want, we can clean up that pelt for him.”

Keith did not reply immediately. He watched the movements of the man on the couch: the calm rise of the blanket and the twitch of his nose and fluttering of hair as he breathed, like any normal person when they slept. And yet, there was something ethereal about him, something that put Keith in awe and in most other situations he would chalk up to admiration. He tore his eyes away when the feeling contracted his chest. Shiro took him with soft motions to the coffee table, and he lifted the pelt with both arms.

“Dish soap should work. It’s what they use in wildlife rescue.”

Being emotionally vulnerable did not suit Keith at all. His stubborn streak won out, and he pulled himself out of whatever murk he had slipped into. He nodded once and gestured towards the kitchen.

“The dish soap’s under the sink. I’ll fill the tub to wash it in.”

That at least would distract his thoughts for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want a few more chapters of this, tell me in the comments!  
> Update: There shall be more.


	2. The Selkie Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Playful seal !!!

Shiro told Keith that if he did not feel up to work in the morning he could take a sick day, and Keith groused that he did not need Shiro covering for him before letting him depart. They had washed the pelt together until it smelled like the pineapple dish soap, and Keith rested it on the coffee table afterwards, so the man could find it safe when he awoke. Keith did not want him to think he was keeping it from him, or that he was invading his space, so after Shiro left he sat at the opposite end of the coffee table with his laptop on.

His first order of business was researching his hypothesis, and that resulted in him searching up ‘male selkies’ and being flooded with websites that praised their handsomeness and ability to seduce women into the sea. Keith eyed the man at that. If he were honest with himself the man was quite handsome, with his lush eyelashes and high cheekbones, but that alone being enough to coax women into being his wife was a different story. Keith returned to the computer screen, shifting on his floor pillow into a more comfortable position. He dozed off on the table when his research lead him to looking up what types of seals may live around the Gulf of Mexico.

Keith did not know what he expected when the man would awake: maybe a shift on the couch that would rose both of them, or some distressed noise when he realized he was in a strange place. What Keith certainly did not expect was to wake up with his cheek smushed against the table, his laptop open but timed out, and a pair of blue eyes staring at him.

 _“Jesus!”_ Keith jolted upright.

The man blinked at him. He wore the blanket wrapped around him like a parka, the pelt shifted to this end of the coffee table to sit before him. He said nothing as Keith composed himself, one hand over his startled heart and one reaching out to close his laptop. The man merely remained perched on his knees, his expression inquisitive.

“Oh—sorry,” Keith figured the man wanted an apology to fill the silence, but he only smiled at him, and it dazzled Keith enough to excite his heart for a second time that morning. He had to distract himself from getting flustered.

“Um… Do you want something?”

The man cocked his head. Keith made circles with his hand, not knowing if he was unclear or the man did not understand the phrase.

“Like, food—or clothes, first.”

The man perked, then nodded rapidly; so Keith had been in the wrong. Keith nodded in return and stood from the coffee table, speaking as he walked to his bedroom.

“I’ll find you… something.”

The man watched him go, and observed the bent arch of his back as Keith dug through his closet. He did not know what of his would fit the man, but in their situation, it probably did not matter. He left his bedroom with a t-shirt that he thought would fit the length of the man’s torso and blue sweatpants he could adjust as needed.

“You can change in the bathroom, if you want.”

Keith motioned with his head to the room off the living room. The man hopped up and collected the offered clothes, the blanket still intertwined about him as he scurried into the bathroom. Keith waited until he heard the door click shut to return to the coffee table, figuring it polite to not go about his daily routine while there was a strange guest in his home.

And he noticed the man had not taken the pelt with him. Keith was surprised he did not, considering the death grip he had on it the night before. Keith again found himself staring at it in disbelief, a thousand questions in the thousand hairs that shone in the early sunlight. The bathroom door opened, and Keith took his eyes away, his attention now on the man in sweatpants obviously too big and a shirt obviously too small.

He plopped down where he had been before, an expectant shine in his eyes as he looked at Keith. He leaned in a little too close for Keith’s comfort, one leg bouncing and hands perched atop his crossed shins. Keith stared at him in utter bafflement at the sudden friendliness before he remembered more pressing matters, clearing his throat and causing the man to cock his head again.

“So… What’s your name?”

That would be the best place to start. The man’s face lit up like the sky at daybreak, his mouth open and all at once ready to talk.

“… an… t…”

But his voice came out choppy, and he at least knew the tradition to turn away while coughing and hacked dryly into his arm. Keith frowned sympathetically.

“Swallowing that oil probably messed up your throat.”

The man sat up from his spell, looking absolutely miserable.

Keith tried to help him from what he got: “Um… Grant, was it?”

The man’s lips crinkled in disgust, and he shook his head violently and waved his arms in the negative. He made a flexing motion, as if that would help, but when Keith just gave him a deadpan expression, he knew he had to use a different tact. He shifted closer and again wiggled in uncomfortably close, a bright and determined and incredibly cute look in his eyes that made Keith’s breath catch—not that he would admit it had happened at all.

The man ran his tongue down the back of his teeth.

‘L.’

“Oh,” Keith caught on that he was trying to mouth out the sounds. “Ah—Lant?”

The man’s eyebrows furrowed, and he shook his head again. He repeated the movement of his tongue, then added a sound that stretched out his cheeks. Keith replicated the motions to see which syllables they would match. The uncovering of the teeth and wide stretch of the lips seemed indicative of a ‘s’ or ‘c’.

“Oh, um—Lucent?”

He winced this time before he shook his head. He now made a jabbing motion with his arm, and Keith wondered if he was trying to replicate a weapon or something.

“Is that like a… Lance?”

The man let out a yip of joy. He tossed up his arms, and before Keith could stop him, he knocked him to the ground in a big cuddly mess. The unexpected contact with someone he knew nearly nothing off and clumsy tackle set Keith’s skin on edge, but he knew Lance was not trying to be mean about it and cooled his rash reaction. And he had to admit it was not that bad: Lance burrowing his face into his hair was probably not appropriate, but his arms around Keith’s torso were warm, and Keith did not notice the heat rising to his face until his heart thumped into his throat. He also became acutely aware of how gross he was, since he had skipped his usual after-surfing evening shower. But, Lance did not seem to mind. He even made a purring sound close to Keith’s ear, although that made Keith decide he had enough. He wormed under Lance’s hold, and Lance took the hint and sprang back up to the coffee table.

“I’m not really one for hugs.” Keith coughed awkwardly and sat back on his pillow. “But, um—thanks.”

Lance lidded his eyes and quirked his lips in a way Keith supposed was meant to be flirtatious, but after that more-than-casual hug—and with his sea-glass blue eyes and dark lashes and cat-like mouth, it was too much. Keith jolted up from the table, his face afire.

“I’ll… get you a notebook,” Keith excused himself, and Lance changed his expression to something more akin to appreciation. “That way you don’t have to try to talk.”

If Keith lived long enough to find one, of course. His face relaxed as he looked. It took some digging in his kitchen drawers, but Keith uncovered the notebook he used when he needed the occasional piece of lined paper. He also snagged a pen from the envelope rack by the door, and had the paper turned to a fresh page when he returned. He just hoped Lance would not go flipping through it and find all his bad poetry from 10th grade.

Before Keith could speak, Lance was already scrawling in the notebook. He turned his finished creation towards Keith rather proudly, and Keith narrowed his eyes to discern the scribbles. It was not words, but a picture, with ‘V’ shapes and swirls he thought looked like the ocean and a sun in the corner. An arrow pointed off the page, and Lance made sure Keith knew he was pointing at him, if the shaking of the notebook by Keith’s head was anything to go by.

“You’re… saying my hair is like the ocean? That it smells like the ocean?”

Lance bobbed his head, grinning while he did. He took back the notebook and added to the picture, putting little Valentine hearts over the waves and around the arrow. Keith ran fingers through his hair, all too ready to blush.

“You think it smells nice? Thanks, I guess.”

Lance clasped his hands by his face like when one would see a particularly cute dog—Keith swore if he had been standing, he would have raised his leg too. The image fell when realization overtook his features, and he went to drawing with renewed vigor. He placed the notebook before Keith this time, and Keith saw the two arrows: one pointing towards Lance with the actual letters to spell ‘ _LANCE’_ , and one towards him with a question mark.

“Oh—Keith.” Keith put a hand on his chest. “My name’s Keith.”

Lance’s mouth opened a little with joy, and he shoved the pen towards Keith. Lance pointed at the empty arrow, and Keith added his name, figuring he wanted a matching pair. Lance snatched back the notebook and studied Keith’s handwriting, his lips pursed until he nodded once. He then smoothed the notebook down on the table, crossing his hands atop and staring at Keith patiently. Keith blinked and pointed at himself.

“Is it my turn to ask questions now?”

Lance nodded the affirmative. Keith’s brain did the very thing he did not need and blanked completely, and all he could do was stare at Lance being so considerate. But, fortunately, the pelt between them caught the corner of his eye and cleared the cobwebs.

Keith lied his hands on the table, blurting out in an elevated voice:

“Are you a selkie?”

Keith thought that may be the wrong way to start out when fear came into Lance’s eyes. He instinctively went for his pelt, but for some reason unknown to Keith, forced himself to stop and back away. A tiny awfulness piqued in Keith’s chest. He scooted an inch or so away from the pelt and Lance, who’s face had paled dreadfully.

“No, Lance, I don’t want it.” Keith tried to right the wrong. “If I did, I would have taken it already.”

Lance shivered like he was sick and lowered his head, and Keith realized Lance probably thought that before now. At least, he thought that if Keith wanted to steal the pelt for money or clothing he would have done so, but the uncovering of his apparent true identity was not something he was prepared for. Or, it could have been something along with that: something Keith could not see amongst everything else.

“I’m not cruel enough to keep you here against your will,” Keith reinforced softly. “If you are a selkie or whatever, you can go back to the sea whenever you like. I’m not going to steal your pelt like those stories of sailors keeping selkies as their wives.”

Lance raised his head to look at Keith, and his eyes were so sad they made Keith’s heart physically hurt. He offered Keith a smile, a weak one, both of gratitude and something despondent. It did not compliment his chipper character from before at all.

“Here.” Keith nudged the notebook. “You can ask me another question instead.”

Lance nodded against his chest. He exhaled, trying to dismiss his solemn attitude, and picked up the pen. He drew slower now with a pensive look on his face, his tongue out slightly as he thought through this and that. When he showed Keith the drawing, Keith had to scoot back to try to decipher it. It depicted a crude map, with a landmass Keith could guess was supposed to be Florida with The Bahamas and Cuba below, along with the rest of the land that encased the Gulf. Question marks dotted the area of the water, and Lance circled around them with his finger, communicating to Keith with his eyebrows and a shrug that he was confused. Keith looked from him to the map.

“You want to know where you are?”

Lance shrugged again, too bashful to nod. Keith decided on the map about where the United States would end and Mexico would start and pointed above that on the eastern side.

“We’re around here: Arus, Texas.”

Lance’s brow lowered, now in worry instead of melancholy. He yanked back the notebook and made marks on the map, and Keith watched the motion of him circling the patch of ocean to the west of Cuba and arching an arrow over to where they were. Keith startled in his seat.

“You got here all the way from _Cuba?”_

Lance whined through his nose, equally distressed. He whirled to the next page of the notebook and went wild with his mark-making, and Keith waited to be shown so he could make sense of it. Lance smacked the notebook before him after he finished, face set seriously and pen ready to be used as a pointer.

The first picture was of a cloud prickling with lightning bolts, the top of it crowned with the word ‘ _Tormenta’_ —which, Keith was proud of himself for remembering his high school Spanish class section on weather, meant ‘storm’. Below, stick figures bobbed in the water, and Lance used the pen to emphasize the one who appeared to be torn away from the group, labeled ‘ _Me’._ The image lead into the next one, where the box shapes on stilts mimicked a platform like those of ocean oil refineries. After that, Lance pointed to a group of confusion swirls and question marks, and he shrugged again. Keith peered across the line of events a final time, tapping his chin.

“So, a storm separated you from your family, and something happened near an oil refinery, and you don’t know how you ended up here.”

Lance touched the back of his hand to his forehead woefully. It was a little too comical for how serious this all was, but acting childish seemed to be a trait of his. Keith now held his chin and nodded, looking again to the figures like people in the water.

“Well— “

The sudden blare of Keith’s alarm caused them to jump. Keith fumbled in his pajama pocket, saving them from the ringing of the default violin tone. Lance turned his head and snickered into his hand like Keith would not hear, and Keith shot him an exasperated look.

“That was my alarm to get up for work.” Keith sighed and returned the phone to his pocket. “But, do you want some breakfast? What do you like to eat?”

Lance held his cheeks as if to cover a blush, like he could not believe Keith would cook for little ol’ him. Keith rolled his eyes, and Lance snickered again. He removed his hands to motion them out while he shrugged, to indicate anything would be fine. Keith released a breath and used the table to hoist himself up.

“Pancakes it is, then.”

.

Keith called Allura to say he would not be coming in— “No, something just came up… Yes, I’m fine… Thanks for asking…”—before getting out the tools for pancakes. He also offered Lance use of his shower, but Lance did not seem keen on that proposal. By some fortune, the oil on his back had rubbed off on the blanket and not the couch, and that left him, as he saw, with nothing to wash. Lance did not smell any more like old sea water than Keith did, so Keith could not complain.

A hitch came in the day when Keith was buttering the pan and a form that had to be Shiro passed by the window. He knocked like Keith asked him to whenever he came to visit, and that put Lance all in a panic. He seemed to know some of the human world like he knew some of its writing, and he understood not to shove against Keith around a hot stove and instead ducked behind the couch. He took his pelt with him, and a growl hummed in his throat as Keith opened the door for Shiro. Keith gave him a pointed look to say he was acting immature—but, if any of the selkie stories held truth, Keith did not really blame him.

“It’s just my brother,” Keith assured him. “He helped me clean your pelt last night.”

Lance popped his head a little further over the couch, wary. Shiro, ever the better conversationalist, smiled rather than gawked at him.

“Feeling better?”

Lance moved a smidgen more. Keith rotated his wrist in the air, walking back towards the kitchen.

“He can’t exactly talk. The oil messed with his throat or something.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” Shiro said, and Keith nearly gagged because it was just so sugary and _sincere._ “Maybe you’ll be better by tomorrow.”

Lance appreciated the kindness, however. He tiptoed out from behind the couch, then rushed for Keith, ducking between him and the stove and the sink. He thought Keith would be a better barrier between him and Shiro for some reason, and Keith raised an eyebrow at that. Shiro remained near the high counter that separated the living room from the kitchen, not wanting to frighten him more.

“But, are you alright otherwise?” Although Lance could not speak, Shiro appeared intent upon carrying on the conversation. “Keith treating you okay?”

“I’m making him breakfast,” Keith answered for him as he spooned the batter into the pan.

Nevertheless, Lance held his head like the idea would never cross his mind, then smiled impishly and nodded at Shiro. Shiro chuckled and returned the smile.

“That’s good… He didn’t try to steal your pelt or anything, did he?”

It was meant as a joke, but Lance stiffened in warning. His gaze whipped between the two brothers, and finally rested on Keith. He yanked on Keith’s pant leg, and Keith muttered something obscene when his pajamas nearly came off. He stared down at Lance, mirroring his scowl.

“ _What?”_

Lance motioned at Shiro with his head, his eyes speaking for him.

_You told him?_

“Of course I told him,” Keith scoffed. “I mean, you showed up on the beach in nothing but a seal pelt, it’s not like you were being secretive.”

“Oh, I didn’t come to hurt you.” Shiro waved his hands defensively, breaking up the brewing conflict. “I just know a bit about the lore, since Keith was so into cryptids and myths when we were younger. We used to go out looking for mermaids.”

Lance’s eyes widened in shock, and he glanced at Shiro before returning to Keith. Then, his face broke into cheeky smile, and Keith groaned.

“Shiro, now you’ve given him _dirt_ —look at him.”

Lance hid his smirk behind his hand, and Keith did not have to look behind to know Shiro was probably the same. He exhaled violently and took to ignoring them, scraping the pancake off the pan.

Two against one. So unfair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: I'm not dedicated enough to the dynamics of this ship to make it a slow burn.  
> Also Me: That just means it'll be a WHIRLWIND ROMANCE.


	3. The Day Off

Despite his utter betrayal, Keith offered Shiro a share of the pancakes if he would like some, but Shiro declined in favor of getting on his way to work early to see if Allura needed anything. Keith told him to tell her hello and that he was sorry he could not come in today, and Shiro said he would before departing on his bicycle. Keith had no idea why Shiro would use his expensive Black Lion racing bike to commute to work if he could just walk, but he never cared enough to ask.

          Lance had no issues with the table etiquette of using a fork and knife to eat pancakes. He used _far_ too much syrup for Keith’s taste, but the readiness as to which he drizzled every square inch of his pancakes communicated something to Keith: not only had Lance used silverware before, but he had eaten pancakes and knew how much syrup he liked on them. That baffled Keith enough to make him pause from cutting his pancakes into pieces. If he was a selkie and he spent most of his life in the ocean, when would he eat pancakes? Did that mean there were points when he would come out of the ocean and join human life?

          It would explain why he knew some writing and did not dismiss putting on clothing. Keith shook the multiplying questions from his head, focusing on the here and now of cutting apart his pancakes and eating them. For the time being, asking Lance questions and having him try to answer them through pictures and miscellaneous words was not easy—and, less Keith forget, last time he had asked a question, it upset Lance.

          Lance was not his to keep, and if the stars aligned to bless Keith with Lance being able to tell him the answers to his questions one day, then so be it. It was not his choice to make.

          Which reminded Keith. After the pancakes were finished and dishes put in the sink, Keith reiterated his point of Lance being free to go as he wished, even unlocking the door and opening it a crack.

          “Really, you can go whenever you want.”

          Keith did not necessarily want Lance to leave—having a selkie or other mythical creature, right there in his home, was something he had never _dreamed—_ but it was the right thing to do, no matter how much the idea of Lance going with no hope of seeing him again made Keith’s throat tighten and chest hurt.

          Standing by the dining table, Lance tilted his head in question. Keith swallowed so his voice would not crack, motioning out the door.

          “I won’t stop you.”

          Lance’s eyebrows furrowed, and he flared his nostrils. He shook his head and stomped his foot, crossing his arms and turning up his chin to better enforce what he meant. Keith blanched at how childish he was, momentarily wordstruck.

          “… Lance— “

          Lance stomped again.

          _No, I’m staying._

          He even moved to shut the door himself, and he latched onto Keith’s arm while he was there. Keith’s face flared up immediately. Although Lance was very close and staring fiercely into his eyes, he did not seem to notice. Lance huffed through his nose like an angered bull. The breath caressed Keith’s lips and the tip of his nose, and it did nothing to help the blood diverting from his brain to his cheeks. After what could have been forever for all Keith knew, Lance thought his point made and released Keith’s arm, nodding to himself and stalking back to the kitchen, all up in airs. Keith had to take a moment to check that his soul had not left his body.

          What was with him? An attractive guy got close to him, and suddenly he was a dumb, love-struck teenager? Keith marched to the opposite end of the living room, grumbling about his own foolishness, and his face staying slightly red from annoyance. Lance was partway magic, he reminded himself. He probably had some trick that made people swoon whether they wanted to or not.

          Much to Keith’s continued frustration, Lance wished to remain uppity, and Keith almost could not coax him out of the kitchen. He sat on the couch with a stubborn plop, and it took all of Keith’s will not grit his teeth and snap at him. He felt like Lance was challenging him, although he did not know why, and the exchange at the door left Keith embittered. He tossed open the TV stand cabinets, indicating the DVDs inside like a return challenge.

          If he had the day off, he was going to use it to relax—even if it meant dealing with an impossible selkie.

          “Here. You can pick.”

          Lance made sure Keith saw his glare before sliding to the floor and crawling to the cabinet. He scanned through the opitions like nothing Keith have would ever interest him, settling on the single romantic movie he had, like he thought it would spite Keith. Keith shoved the DVD into the player without a word of protest that would only serve to satisfy Lance’s pettiness, and they went to sit on the couch, the middle cushion between them.

          Keith had not liked the frankly generic and poorly written love story of a human falling in love with an alien since he was in middle school, but seeing the beginning with the man being unhappy with his job and finding a spaceship crashed out in a field brought back good memories, and after about half an hour into the film, he relaxed. He also sensed Lance ease beside him, and he silently forgave him for his antics. He let his arm rest on the cushion between, hoping that communicated enough.

          Lance made a meeping sound. Keith glanced to the side, and he saw Lance had moved closer, bowing over Keith’s arm. It took Keith a moment to understand why. His sleeve had ridden up a little, and the band-aids Keith had used to patch up his cuts peeked out. Lance looked up to Keith with the utmost sadness: the regret in his eyes too human to be insincere. Keith snatched back his arm and cradled it in his other, startled.

          “No, it’s fine,” he lied a little. “You didn’t mean to.”

          Lance narrowed his eyes. Keith shut his eyes and sighed.

          “You were trying to protect yourself,” he corrected. “I’m not mad or anything.”

          Still, Lance could not just leave it as it was and pretend he had not made a mistake. Lance pulled Keith’s arm away from him, surprising him enough that he did not seize it back until it was too late.

          Lance placed a little kiss right above Keith’s wrist. Keith froze, going so numb he felt like his mind had fallen right out of his head into another plane of existence. Lance smiled up and him and chirped in his throat, the noise enough to reel Keith back into reality just in time to feel his heart take its turn diving earthward. He tried wheezing to kickstart his heartbeat again, but by some horrific twist of fate the sound caught under his nose, and it came out as a response chirp. Lance perked up like a flicked radio antenna, mouth agape and cheeks ruddy.

          Keith in no way wanted to know the names of what he was feeling right now.

          Keith tried to play it off: yanked his arm away, turned back to the movie like it had never happened and he was not burning up inside. Granted, Lance was not going to have any of that, and he rumbled low in his throat in protest. He plucked the notebook and pen from their place by his pelt on the coffee table, using a new page for his drawing. Keith groaned and covered his face with his hands.

          “Lance, _no—_ I don’t want to know.”

          Lance made another rumble, and Keith could not ignore him ramming into his side and smacking the notebook against his hands. He relented, and in a terrific display of self-control, shouted and waved away the assaulting notebook.

          _“Alright!”_

          Lance nodded, satisfied—or smug: one of the two. He curled up against Keith’s shoulder, the affectionate motion diverting Keith’s temper to another emotion he chose not to think about. Lance spread the notebook atop Keith’s thighs and pointed.

          He showed the figure of a woman he had drawn—complete with eyelashes and lips and long hair—cradling a baby against her chest. A music note with a heart hovered between them, and Lance tapped his finger against it more times than necessary, looking up at Keith and repeating the chirp. Keith bent over the armrest of the couch, suffocating on embarrassment.

          _“Oh my god.”_ Keith covered his face again. “ _Oh my god, please, no.”_

          Lance chirped more insistently. He tugged on Keith’s shirt sleeve to urge him away from death and hitting his head on the side table. Keith groaned like it were already too late for him and allowed Lance to flop him upright.

          “You mean I did that, and you didn’t go ahead and end my pathetic life?”

          Lance chirped twice, his eyes locked on Keith. Keith’s brain was in shambles, but the look was plain enough to recognize.

          Lance _liked_ it.

          Keith dropped to the side again; if he were not dead before, he sure was now. Lance stood on his knees and shook Keith’s limp body, chirping a melody over the sounds of laser gunfire from the TV.

          How had Keith done this to himself?

          .

          Lance concluded his efforts to revive Keith were fruitless, so he contented himself with lying on Keith’s side and stealing his warmth like—well—a seal sunbathing on a rock. Keith accepted his damned fate with no protest, not even when Lance nudged his shoulder with his forehead and meeped worriedly, or when the movie ended and switched right over to the subpar sequel about the couple’s half-alien, half-human son being captured by his mother’s people. That movie ended around lunchtime, and Lance slipped back to his end of the couch, waiting for Keith’s next move. Keith turned his face into the armrest and gave a last, borderline-screaming breath. He sat back up to see Lance pressing his lips together as if to keep from laughing.

          “What do you want for lunch?”

          He was composed enough now to strategize a subject change. Lance tilted his head to think, and in the end made the same shrug he did before breakfast. At least he was not picky.

          Keith just made them sandwiches, and he pretended not to mind when Lance took most of the ham for his; he did not know what diet was proper for a selkie, and he did not want to deny him meat if it was a staple. Or maybe Lance was just being petty again and took all the ham because he believed Keith saw him as naïve.

          Keith would not be surprised.

          Although Keith did have the rest of the day to do with what he liked, he was never one for lazing around for long periods of time. He asked Lance if he would like to go out to the beach with him, to which Lance responded with enthusiastic nods—before he eyed his pelt fretfully. Keith sighed and told him to hide it wherever he liked, and Lance spent fifteen minutes scanning the house before deciding to tuck his pelt under Keith’s mattress: the first place nobody would look, obviously.

          Lance swapped his impromptu outfit for Keith’s extra pair of swim trunks, and they were off. Keith carried his surfboard over his head while he descended the ramp from his door to sand, Lance ducking behind as he switched it to the crook of his arm. Lance kept himself busy by running circles around Keith while they walked, trying to get a look at all the decals on the surfboard. The way he pranced about made the sand spring up like a fox pouncing through the snow, and when he passed beyond Keith’s peripheral vison, he seemed to almost shimmer white like one. Keith felt if he went and turned his head too quickly, Lance would disappear altogether.

          They passed by the dock. The water was higher than it had been in the night, and whatever imprint Lance may have left in the sand was washed away. Lance spun and walked backwards to spare a look under the dock, and something mischievous or mocking came to his face when he did, like he was challenging an old rival. Keith was afraid of what nonsense he would do if he knew Keith noticed. Lance returned to facing forward, and Keith allowed him to stay a few steps ahead on purpose.

          They reached Keith’s usual spot not long after. Keith had to find a space for his bag in the sand and configurate his surfboard tether to his wrist, but Lance went right in, stopping short when the water reached his ankles and he realized Keith was not there with him. He waved his arms over his head, impatient and brows furrowed. All Keith offered in response was a nasty look with no real merit behind it. He jogged towards the water and met Lance, who had his hands on his hips and revenge glare to match. Keith paid him no mind, instead concentrating on fighting against the breaking waves and making it out to deeper water. He did not check if Lance followed, but he did see when Lance was close beside him and dove under the water.

          Or, he did not dive so much as… slip under the water. He made no sound or splash when he did, and Keith suddenly did not see him at all, until he popped his head up, a few meters out beyond the breakers in deeper water. He slicked his hair back and grinned when he breached, making sure Keith saw how effortlessly he moved compared to Keith just now mounting his board. Keith scowled and rowed out his direction.

          “You’re not being fair,” Keith criticized Lance’s _‘Get on my level’_ look. “You’re a magical sea creature, and I’m not.”

          Lance puffed out his cheeks and turned away. He ducked under the water, appearing further away with his back still facing Keith and now his arms crossed. Keith shook his head and paddled out for the area where the jetty waves would meet.

          Keith sat up on his surfboard, rubbing the length of his thighs as he waited for the next wave. The water was tranquil and shining in the sun, but Keith knew what to look for: the wind would blow from the ocean, and the waves would catch against the rocks. They would crash together, and the water would rise, and Keith would feel the suck and swell as he prepared to jump on his board.

          The surfing waves would come.

          Like he should have expected Lance to. The back of his board dipped, and Keith had to hold in a yelp and steady himself as he rocked in the water. His expression firmed, and he did not bother to crane his head around to look at Lance, although he made a small chirp that had Keith’s face heat up for a moment—the blood all too eager to return as Lance hopped forward and bumped his knees against Keith’s legs. Lance leaning his head over Keith’s shoulder also did not help, and Keith finally caved. He sighed and looked over.

          “What do you want?”

          He could not see Lance fully, but he saw him tuck his lower lip under his upper lip like a cat mouth. He brushed his cheek against the wet twines of Keith’s hair, making that low purring sound so deep in his chest Keith could feel the vibrations against his back. Or, that could have been all his hair raising at once, and his spine deciding it no longer wanted to hold him up. Keith bent down on the surfboard as far as he could go.

          “Lance, _stop.”_ Keith’s voice came out darker than he meant it to. “I don’t like that.”

          Lance ceased his purring. His eyes narrowed although Keith could not see, suspicious that was a lie. Lance slipped off the side of the surfboard and swam around to the front. Keith pressed so low to the surfboard he was nearly eyelevel with the water, and Lance could meet his gaze without much problem. Part of Keith’s hair fell over his face like lengths of seaweed, and he frowned at Lance, which Lance returned; Lance had tried to be nice to him, and now he was being mean.

          A small wave passed under them, and Lance had enough of this standoff. He did not know if they had a cultural misunderstanding, or whatever, but he was not going to have Keith sit up there and grouch at him. Lance growled from the lowest part of his lungs, and he gripped the edge of the surfboard, indignant. Surprised, Keith lurched up; the growl was not like what he made at Shiro, but was fearsome in its own right. Lance shook the board once before looking up at Keith, and Keith could tell how fed up he was with acting like this.

          Which was fair, Keith thought. Here Lance had been sticking around and playing in the water with him out of the kindness of his heart, and Keith went and snapped at him. Keith was not being hospitable at all. And Lance cared enough about him to call him out on it.

          “Sorry,” Keith muttered, then shook his head; he was going to make this a proper apology. “I don’t like being touched without permission, but you couldn’t have possibly know that. I’m sorry I snapped at you. That wasn’t fair of me.”

          Lance nodded slowly: mulled it over, decided it sufficed. He smiled at Keith, and Keith let out a breath of relief. He was forgiven.

          Then, Lance hummed to return Keith’s attention to him and spun around in the water. He pointed to his back and made motions over his shoulders and under his arms like straps were there. Keith observed the gestures, and took then as something like a child piggyback riding.

          “You want me to ride you?”

          Lance smirked and quirked his eyebrows at the implications of the word ‘ride’. Of course he did.

          “Not like _that_.” If Keith continued to blush as much as he had been lately, he was sure to die of heat stroke. “Don’t be gross.”

          Lance just added to it by blowing a kiss and winking. Keith refused to let himself sputter, instead shifting and straightening up on his surfboard.

          “That’s really not going to make me want to say yes.” Keith attempted to sound like he did not enjoy Lance’s shenanigans. “Try again later, when you’ve shown me you can be decent.”

          Lance whined and his lips pouted out. He grabbed onto the surfboard and swished it back and forth in the water, Keith watching his tantrum of legs kicking the water and arms pumping the surfboard as he swayed.

          “Lance—begging won’t help. I’m not susceptible to that.”

          Lance ducked halfway underwater, just long enough for Keith to see his bubbles before he disappeared all the way under. Keith turned to the other side, thinking he would try to pop up there and surprise him.

          But, Lance was not quite that predicable. Keith shouted as his board knocked over, sending him into the water with a loud splash. He resurfaced almost immediately, fuming as Lance lied over his surfboard and almost made himself sick with laughter and coughing. Keith swatted water his way; it was all he could think to do. He knew the principle of the thing, and a return submerging would not mean nearly as much to someone who was a literal sea creature.

          “It’s not funny!”

          Lance wheezed and coughed harder, because, oh, sweet Keith: it was _hilarious._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *chirps*


	4. The Beach Shop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mr. Kogane's Selkie Butler

Keith was a light sleeper—really.

          Ask Shiro, and he would recollect the times he would turn over in his sleep, and Keith then came all the way down the hall to check on him; or one of their parents would cough, and he got up to see if they were okay. It led to Keith being cranky and tired during the day when they were younger, but a lot of that stopped when he moved to his own place and could sleep in peace.

          Lance’s magical nature must have been the reason why he could sneak around Keith undetected.

          Not that Keith realize that. Which is why he woke up the morning after their beach trip with his alarm chiming, covered head to toe in pillows, and panicked.

          “I— _what?”_

          For a brief second he associated the weight with being attacked, and he swung about and fought his way to the surface of the pile. Some of the pillows fell to the side, and Keith paused to stare at them, his brain as frazzled as his bedhead. They were two of the couch cushions along with one of the throw pillows. His first thought was not that they should not have been there, but that them being there meant Lance had nothing to sleep on, and that made him jerk over to turn off the alarm and go check on him.

          He was only stopped by a soft chirp.

          If Keith was in right state of mind, he should have been able to put the puzzle pieces together, but he was not, and looking over to see Lance peeking out from under his blanket and other throw pillows startled him so badly he almost jolted out of bed. But, Keith caught himself, and merely hiccupped and clutched at his fluttering chest.

          “What are you doing in my _bed?”_

          Lance blinked sleepily, opting not to answer in favor of snuggling his face back into Keith’s blanket. Keith frowned, and gave Lance a moment so he could assess the damage. Not only had Lance somehow collected all the pillows in the house and piled them on the bed and nested himself under them without Keith knowing, but he had also been clever enough to stuff the bedsheets Keith had given him to replace the dirtied blanket into pairs of Keith’s pants tied at the ends to make more pillow-like objects. Keith held up a pair of his flannel pants knotted at the legs and packed halfway with a bedsheet and halfway with rolled-up shirts, not knowing if he was awed or horrified.

          “Seriously, what is _this?”_

          Lance released a muffled groan. He uncovered his face again, looking ruffled and grumpy from having been woken up by Keith’s demands. He opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a wheeze, and he turned his face back into the blanket and coughed. He whined and did not lift his head, and Keith took it as Lance seeing the act of explaining himself too grand an expenditure for now. Keith, never known for being a patient person, knocked the pillows away from around Lance’s head and caused him to growl softly.

          “Don’t give me that,” Keith did not quite snap, but he was close to it. “Was the couch not good enough for you or something? Were you too far from your pelt? Whatever it was, you should have woken it up and told me, not take all the pillows and invite yourself into _my_ bed.”

          Lance lifted just his eyes just enough to give Keith a nasty look. Although, Keith saw some sadness behind it, and he felt a pang of guilt for being so inconsiderate. He sighed and shook his head.

          “Sorry, that was a little harsh… But, still, you’re a guest here, I can’t understand everything you need. You have to tell me these things.”

          Lance’s eyes softened, and he nodded. Lance poked his head out further, enough to motion towards the door and meep. Keith saw the notebook on the coffee table in the living room, and he nodded and moved to get up.

          “I’ll get your notebook for you.”

          If Keith thought the act was similar to him tending to his spouse, it was far too late, and he already gave Lance the notebook to scribble in. Lance only took enough of his arm out from the covers to sketch a quick picture, then burrowed back under, rumbling a warning Keith assumed was along the lines of ‘ _Don’t bother me again.’_ That left him on his own to puzzle over the crude picture.

          It showed a group of sausages with cat mouths—or seal mouths, rather—piled together on an outcropping with their eyes closed, a crescent moon in the sky. Keith lowered the notebook and looked where he supposed Lance’s head was.

          “So you always slept with your family,” Keith presumed, and Lance gave a single approving hum. “Like the pillows—they’re like your family.”

          Lance hummed again, softer this time. Keith went and collected the fallen pillows, placing them back on the bed where they had been.

          “You… could have told me. I wouldn’t have said no.”

          Keith did not know what part of him the sentiment came from, but it made him stop, a blush creeping up his face. He was positioning a pillow over Lance’s shoulder, and he was far too close to have Lance shift his head up and open one eye to look at him so sincerely. He saw Keith’s vulnerable expression immediately, and Keith turned away; he knew his shame all too easily became anger, and he did not want to do something he would regret. He returned the last throw pillow and walked towards the door.

          “... I’ll let you sleep.”

          Lance meeped worriedly and rose a little from the bed. Keith stopped before he left the room completely, looking back to Lance. He had his eyes widened and lip pouted out, and he made another little noise of concern when Keith looked back. Keith shook his head. He tried to offered a smile, hoping that eased him.

          “No, it’s fine—go back to sleep if you’re tired. I have to get ready for work, but I can cut up fruit for you if you’d like a fruit salad when you get up. Is that okay?”

          Lance, not fully convinced, nodded, that look still in his eyes. Keith exhaled. Against his better judgement, he turned back, going to the bedside. Lance pulled the covers up over his nose, his eyes still wide. He recognized the look of a lecture before it came.

          “Look, Lance…” Lance blinked when all that came from Keith were the softest words he had ever heard him say. “I know I don’t come off as someone you can turn to, but really—you can ask me for things. You are a visitor here, and I’m sure you’re not used to this type of thing, and I want to be accommodating to you. You wanted to stay, and I want you to be comfortable for as long as you’re here, okay? And if that means you want to pile pillows in my bed and pretend they’re your family, well… I’ll manage. Just…”

          Something wounded came to Keith’s expression, and he swallowed.

          “Just… When you want to leave, can you wait to tell me goodbye? That’s all I really want.”

          Lance was so awestruck he almost forgot to nod. Some distant part of himself told him it was the proper thing to do, and Keith looked so much calmer when he did. He nodded in return, moving back towards the door.

          “I’ll make you that fruit salad. You can sleep as long as you want, but I’ll be back for a little while around lunch.”

          Lance’s senses returned, and his lingering sleepiness felt like a weight in his chest. He nodded again, and burrowed back under the blanket, his perception dulling as he listened to the sounds of Keith getting everything ready for work. He almost did not hear Keith tell him he worked two miles down the beach if he needed him, and that there was a payphone at the grocery store a block over if he was really desperate and somehow found his voice. Lance simply hummed that he heard, and pretended not to notice how Keith hovered a second too long before walking away. He heard the click of the front door as it locked, and that was the last of it.

          And when Lance drifted off to sleep, he could forget the feelings that came when Keith said he cared.

          .

          Lance woke up an hour and a half after Keith left, twisted in the blankets and his face mushed against Keith’s pillow. It smelled like his disgusting sandalwood shampoo, and Lance’s first instinct was to growl, and his second was to throw it as far away from him as possible. The pillow landed with a little puff of air and rattle of latches against the closet door, and Lance took to sniffing the area under the pillow to check that the offending scent no longer threatened his nesting space. He remembered how he had told Keith he smelled so good during their first proper discussion—if he could call it that—but after Keith showered and came out smelling like _that,_ he would take back his compliment in a heartbeat. Lance had half a mind to hide his shampoo bottle while he was away, and Lance decided he was actually petty enough to, and his motivation to get up became finding which bottle in the shower dared to smell so foul and hide it where Keith would never find it. He thought the spot he chose inside the back of the toilet particularly underhand and smart.

          Lance found the bowl of sliced apples and oranges and bananas in the fridge. He was not very hungry, but he ate half of it, sitting at the dining table with only the tick of the clock and hum of the drier for company. He put the leftovers back in the fridge when he was done.

          Now, what to do?

          Lance scanned the room, noticing immediately the couch he had stripped of cushions in the night. He figured Keith would appreciate it put back together, so that was his first task. He linked all cushions back into the couch, and even sorted through the clothes he had ransacked from Keith’s closet. He made sure to stay high away from where the pillow landed, but he did a good job putting the clothes back more or less where they had been, he thought. Keith would just admire how they were put back at all.

          Lance’s heart received a little jolt at the thought of Keith smiling at him with such warmth. Lance held his cheeks in his hands, chirping at the image of Keith with that blush of his and a smile to match. It would be so cute! Keith always tried to be grumpy, but he had such a tenderness to him. Lance could see that.

          Lance returned to the living room, thinking watching TV until Keith got back was his best option. Lance located the remote and switched on the TV. He sputtered when he clicked the guide button and found the worst selection of channels he had ever laid eyes on. Even when Lance’s family entertained themselves by renting out a cheap hotel room or homestay place the cable package was not this bad, and Lance wondered what sick kick Keith got by excluding the best cartoon and reality show channels. The only channel in Spanish was the _telenovela_ channel! Did Keith watch most of his shows online or something?

          Lance went hunting for Keith’s laptop, but he did not realize his plan was faulty until he booted it up. Not only did Keith have a password lock he did not know, but Lance did not think he could navigate the keyboard by himself. He knew the writing for some words, like those for weather or the food on restaurant menus or traffic signs, but if he pulled up the home screen, he would not know what to look for. He always had someone to help him before.

          Lance shut down the laptop and went back to the TV, turning it to the _telenovela_ channel, but not enjoying it. He watched two episodes of whatever was on before he could not stand it anymore and switched off the TV in a fit of irritation. He sat up on the couch and scowled although Keith was not there to scowl at.

          Screw Keith for leaving him here all on his lonesome. Lance was going to go get him from work, whether Keith liked that or not.

          What kind of idiot left a selkie, who _clearly_ did not know much about how the human world worked and _clearly_ made efforts to be their friend, alone in their house, anyway? Lance could have tried to work the toaster and caught his house on fire! What then? Although, Lance did know how to work toasters and make toast… Keith was either _very_ trusting or _very_ stupid.

          Lance picked through Keith’s wardrobe for a third time, and he found clothes more suitable for public than an ill-fitting shirt and sweatpants. Keith did not own many shorts considering he lived on the beach, but Lance found a pair that fit him but were probably snug on Keith. He also found a t-shirt that was a smidgen longer, and he swapped that with his current one. The black color would not be ideal in the sun, but it was the best he could do for now. He scanned the floor of the closet for shoes and snagged a pair of battered flipflops that, luckily, fit him. They were the same shoe size, it seemed.

          Lance double-checked that his pelt remained safe under the mattress. And thinking about his plan of action, Lance went to retrieve the notebook from the bedside table. He discovered a pile of coins on top, as well as numbers that must have been Keith’s cellphone. A quick map showed the way to the grocery store, along with another picture below it telling what to do before. It depicted the front of three houses, and Keith had labeled the one to the far-right with his name, which Lance recognized from yesterday. An arrow pointed to the far-left house, to a doormat with a key highlighted below it. Another name labeled this house, and although Lance could not read it, he could guess it was Shiro’s.

          Clever to keep each other’s keys instead.

          Lance exited the house, notebook in hand, and collected the key from under Shiro’s mat, locking the door and returning it before he left. The only directions Keith had given were that he worked about two miles down the beach, so those were the directions Lance followed. He also said he worked at a beach shop called Castle of Lions or something. Not that Lance could read the sign when he found it.

          Lance carried the flipflops and walked by way of the surf, enjoying the wash of the ocean over his feet and the sun on his skin. Unlike humans, his skin did not burn, whether by natural toughness or magical gift he did not know. It was sort of something he just accepted without explanation, like when he slipped his pelt on and off to shift into whichever form he liked.

          Lance wondered what it was like to be human all the time: left to the consequences of the human world, the ocean a boundary instead of a road. His sister who lived in Varadero knew something of it, but he did not like to think about how she would stand at the porchside and watch the dance of the sea, smelling the salty air and listening to the sad song of the waves, her pelt taken from her. Sometimes, she would sing herself, answering the call of the homeland lost to her with her own melody. She never sang when her husband was around. She refused to give him the pleasure of knowing what her heart sounded like.

          Lance recognized the place Keith liked to surf by the waves that rolled by. He had to be getting close, then, and he paid special attention to the buildings he passed. The shop may have some clue like a lion logo to tell what it was, and Lance did not want to miss it.

          Lance reached an unknown patch of the beach, where out into the ocean a jetty of rocks curved like a sickle to create an area of calm water. Lance scanned the buildings closest to shore, his eyes lingering on one displaying surfboards clearly meant to attract customers. The door was open to the breeze, and Lance could see the movement of people in the shadows inside. Lance walked closer to read as best he could the sign above the door.

          The logo was not only a lion, but a castle _and_ a lion.

          Lance chirped to himself. He stepped out of the water and slipped on the flipflops, rushing for the entrance, but careful not to batter into the surfboards.

          The waft of a fan met him immediately, as well as the unmistakable smell of surfboard wax and… crustacean? Lance turned to the cage beside the door, where a group of hermit crabs clung to the sides or relaxed under well-dampened sponges. Lance made a little twitter in his throat at the familiar tidepool creatures, complimenting them in a way he could not explain in human words even if he could speak at the moment. They clicked happily in return and poked out of their shells to look at him.

          “Hello! How are you doing today?”

          Lance got so engrossed with the hermit crabs he almost forgot his mission. He whirled around at the voice, meeting the gaze of the man behind the counter. He gave Lance a warm smile, and Lance relaxed from being addressed so suddenly. He had a nametag on, although Lance could not read the name, but Lance got the vibe he was so kind that he would not mind at all. He turned from his coworker at the other register to Lance.

          “Are you here to sign up for lessons, or just browse? I’d be happy to sign you up for the next time slot if you’d like!”

          Lance, usually ever sociable, flushed and curled in on himself. He could not exactly respond, and trying to write down something in pictures with a complete stranger just seemed too awkward. Lance had few choices other than to smile and nod, and the man quirked his thick eyebrows in confusion, but smiled back politely. Fortunately, his coworker saved Lance from enduring the silence.

          “Hunk, we are trying to discuss how to make my scooter more fuel efficient!” The coworker, who Lance could only guess was a young boy with glasses, tossed up his arms. “Don’t just cut off like that!”

          “But, Pidge, he’s a customer!” he defended. “If he wants surfing lessons, I have to discuss that with him! The Green Lion can wait.”

          Lance slipped away amid their bickering, hiding out amongst the shelves and clothing racks. He tiptoed around the store, peering around shelves and piles of t-shirts. The store was not that big, and if Keith had left he would have met him on the beach, so he knew he would find him with a little searching. He could make the guttural noise from his lungs he did whenever his family was far away, but Keith would have no idea what it was, and Lance did not know if he could with the current state of his throat. And if he did it too loudly in might threaten the integrity of the glass objects in the store, so he placed his bets on just looking around. He would find Keith eventually.

          Actually, he found Shiro first. He was in a back room with an open door talking to a man donning a waxed orange mustache, a clipboard between them. Lance had just moved and prepared the notebook to ask Shiro where Keith was, but there was no need: Keith appeared from inside the room, a box in his arms as he leaned over to look at the clipboard as well.

          Lance had never chirped so loudly in his entire life. Keith nearly dropped the box he was carrying, because he knew that sound, and he was not totally surprised when Lance came running towards him. He stopped just short of Keith, forcing himself not to hug Keith although he was so happy to see him he wanted to. He made gestures with his arms instead, hoping his motions and chirps said enough about him missing Keith and wanting to see him as soon as possible. Apparently not, because:

          “What are you doing here?”

          Lance stopped his motions and chirps, frowning. Keith set the box to the side, and he wiped the sweat on his hands on his pants. A stubborn expression set his eyebrows.

          “Is something wrong?”

          Lance shook his head, waving his hands in his own defense. Keith sighed and pinched his forehead.

          “Then, what is it?”

          Shiro and the man with the mustache watched the interchange of Lance writing in the notebook and showing it to Keith, and Keith sighing again. They exchanged a look, and Shiro decided it was best to intervene after Keith complained about having limited sick days and before he upset Lance. He did not want them stirring up another fight.

          “Keith, why don’t you take your lunchbreak?”

          Keith turned from Lance to Shiro, another retort on his tongue as Lance scowled at him. Shiro motioned to Lance with his eyes, telling Keith to think before he spoke without saying anything.

          “You can take him out to eat,” he suggested. “Show him around Arus a bit.”

          Lance nodded in agreement and crossed his arms, like he had won whatever theoretical fight they were going to have. Keith thinned his lips, his reasonable half at odds with his irrational half trumpeting the overthrowing of Shiro for daring to scold him. The reasonable side spoke of being kind because Lance was around, and in the end that side won out. Keith released the tension in his face and nodded.

          “Alright… Can you handle this until I get back?”

          Shiro said not to worry, and Lance forgot his anger to smile at the cute expression of defeat on Keith’s face. Keith ushered Lance out the door.

          “C’mon, let’s go.”

          Only:

          “Shiro! Coran!”

          Keith could agree Allura was pretty: pretty, and his brother’s girlfriend. She had long billowing hair she dyed silver, and smooth skin, and a way to her walk and speech that captivated people. She had never been anything but kind to Keith, but she was also his boss. He did not know how to feel towards her sometimes.

          Allura came from way of her office, and she smiled at Keith when she saw him. Keith stepped out of her way and motioned behind him to the room.

          “In there.”

          She nodded, but stopped before entering. She looked behind Keith to where Lance was.

          “Is this your friend?”

          Trust Allura to always extend friendliness, and trust Lance to always warp it into something grotesque. Before Keith could answer, Lance was already on the move. He stepped in front of Keith in a way he supposed was meant to be sultry, smoothing back his hair and grinning at Allura who just looked confused. He winked at her, and something ugly crawled up Keith’s chest and bloomed as heat across his face. Allura just looked more confused. She cleared her throat politely and held out her hand.

          “Hello, I’m Allura.”

          Lance took her hand, and Keith almost did not believe his eyes when he saw Lance bow over and kiss her knuckle. Allura waited until he was done, but she jerked her hand away right after, disgust now pinching her lips. She cradled one hand in the other like she wanted to go and scrub it with soap as soon as possible.

          “Ah, thank you… It’s nice to meet you too.”

          Lance grinned again, and Keith had absolutely enough. He grabbed Lance’s arm and pulled him away, leaving Allura to breathe a small sigh of relief and wave goodbye after them.

“C’mon, I don’t have all day for lunch.”

Lance was lucky Shiro had not noticed him acting so flirtatious towards Allura—although, violence was more of Keith’s thing, not Shiro’s. He could still feel the anger burning on his cheeks, and the sudden jerk to a stop when Lance dug his feet into the floor did not help. Keith turned his head back towards Lance, clinching his teeth so he would not yell.

          _“What?”_

          Lance had his brows furrowed, and me made a soft growl, shaking his arm from Keith’s fierce hold. He crossed his arms and stomped one foot, and looked at Keith like a mother who wanted answers about her broken vase. He bobbed his head and stomped again.

          _Explain._

          “I have nothing to say to you.” Keith forced his voice level, and Lance growled again. Keith looked away and continued to walk, away from his problems and whether or not Lance followed.

          “I’m hungry, and I just want to eat, alright? Is that too much to ask?”

          It was a shoddy answer if Lance had ever heard one. But, Lance tailed behind Keith nonetheless, his arms still crossed and attitude sour and Keith visibly sensing so until they reached the front, where the man from before waved from behind the counter. Lance let his arms drop and the mood fell away, if only for the sake of saving face.

          “Hey, Keith, buddy!” Hunk called to him, and Keith managed a smile. “Shay says they’re having a good deal at the pizza shop, and Pidge and I were going to meet her there for lunch. Wanna come?”

          Keith thought it over for a moment. He _really_ did not want to be alone around Lance right now, and a lunch trip with Hunk and his girlfriend and Pidge offered the perfect excuse not to be.

          “Sounds fun,” Keith said, then added. “As long as Lance can come too.”

          “Ah, so you’re Keith’s friend!” Hunk leaned over the counter towards Lance. “Are you from out of town?”

          Lance held up the notebook between then, smiling and nodding shyly. Keith moved to step in before it became them just staring at each other, blurting out the first excuse he thought of.

          “He’s deaf.”

          “Ah…” Hunk hummed and nodded in understanding. “That’s why he didn’t answer me earlier! Makes sense now.”

          “He likes to be around people for the company,” Keith complicated the lie. “He doesn’t like writing to communicate because it cramps his hands, but I don’t know sign language, so that’s what we’re left to most of the time. He’ll usually draw pictures when he doesn’t feel like writing.”

          “You’ve gotten yourself a system there.” Hunk laughed. “I’ll try to be considerate of that.”

          Keith and Lance relaxed. Hunk took it as them being thankful Lance was included and laughed again.

          “Otherwise, he’s welcome to come! I’m going to drive us in Yellow, if that’s okay too. If I put the trunk seats up, everyone should fit just fine.”

          “Yes,” Keith gave Lance a side-eye, and it look all Lance’s will not to outright snarl. “That’s perfect.”

          .

          Lance must have gotten the memo from Hunk’s incessant praise that Shay was taken, and he did not try what he did with Allura when she joined them in the yellow jeep and waved at him all the way in the back. He waved back, and she smiled and then turned to Hunk, the two engaging in a detailed discussion about the new ice cream flavor coming to the ice cream shop where she worked. Shay had grown up a few hours outside of Arus in some alternate community, and her words did not always come out as conversational as they could.

          “Do you think they are in the right, replacing a classic flavor for a new one?”

          “Buttered Pecan will be sorely missed,” Hunk saluted the fallen ice cream flavor. “But, if it is not selling as well as it could, they might as well try something new.”

          Pidge looked up from typing on her phone, an unimpressed expression on her face when she saw Keith sulking against the door and glaring out the window. She pointed to the very back, where Lance was.

          “Shouldn’t you be sitting with your friend?”

          Keith’s frown deepened, and Pidge could see it from his reflection in the glass.

          “He doesn’t mind,” Keith said even as he felt Lance’s eyes searing into him. “He wants me to be in the conversation.”

          Pidge glanced to the back, where she could just see Lance slumping down in his seat. She quickly turned her eyes back to her phone, uncomfortable about even seeing the obvious tension.

          “Alright, whatever.”

          Hunk parked Yellow beside the pizza shop, and they all piled out and entered, occupying a circular table that fit all of them. And although Keith tried to position himself at least a person apart from Lance, he had other plans, and almost knocked over the whole group to park himself next to Keith. Keith did not even spare him a glance, and Lance looked hurt, but Keith was not going to fall for that. Lance was not going to weasel himself out of this one.

          Keith needed time to be petty, although he would not go so far as to admit it was because he was jealous.

          The talk turned to how to split the pizzas. Usually, Hunk and Shay would share one, since they liked anything and everything, and Keith and Pidge would share a pepperoni pizza. Lance complicated the mix, since he could read some of the ingredient options and wanted— _ugh—_ anchovies. Of course he would pick the worst pizza ingredient ever conceived. Keith figured since Lance was his guest, he would take one for the team.

          “I’ll split the anchovy pizza with him.” Keith sighed. “We can get a half-and-half pizza or something. Pidge, you can see if they’ll make you one of those personal pizzas.”

          Pidge nodded, and it was settled. Lance smiled at Keith, and the true thankfulness behind it was almost enough to make Keith forgive him.

          Almost.

          Pidge stood from the table and waved at someone approaching, and Keith should have known it signaled the end of days.

          “Nyma—hey!”

          “Hello, Pidge!”

          The girl with long ponytails stopped before the table, pad of paper in hand to take their order. Keith had become acquainted with Nyma and her brother Rolo because they were Pidge’s neighbor—Pidge often took their dog Beezer on walks with her dog Gunther—and Keith would sometimes run into Nyma or Rolo around town. Nyma also had this odd habit of trying some two-faced flirting trick on Keith whenever it caught her fancy, although Keith was not interested in her. At all. But Lance:

          _He just ate it up._

          “Oh! Is this your new friend?”

          Lance smiled at her, and Keith again felt the anger rise to his cheeks and clinch his throat. Nyma laughed when Lance winked and made stylist finger guns her way.

          “Aw, how cute are you!” Nyma sweetened her voice in that sing-song way of hers. “My name’s Nyma. What’s yours?”

          Before Lance could play Keith even more for a fool, Keith slammed his hand on the table between them, his impulsive instincts firing in his brain and driving him to hostility.

          “He’s deaf, he can’t answer you.”

          Lance spun around to Keith, frowning and an eyebrow raised in confusion, but Keith was not going to explain himself to him. Nyma shifted on her feet, uneasy both with the outburst and Lance being unable to communicate.

          “Oh… Sorry,” she said softly. “That’s a shame.”

          “Keith, buddy, calm down.” Hunk knew Keith well enough to understand how he was when he got irritated. “It’s not like she’s going to kick him out.”

          “Whatever,” Keith huffed and flipped open the menu so he would not have to look at anyone. “Can we just order the pizzas, please?”

          Hunk nodded slowly, then faced Nyma to order what they wanted. Keith could feel Lance’s eyes on him, and he even gave a soft chirp, and it took all of Keith’s will not to turn and scream at him right then and there. Who did Lance think he was, teasing him one day, and then turning around and flirting with two other girls? Being a selkie with limited knowledge of the world was no excuse. Lance could not just go around playing with people’s feelings like that—especially not _his_ feelings. Keith felt emotions very intensely, and he was not going to allow his heart to be broken because some boy with a seal skin thought he was being cute.

Keith was not that cheap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lance "I Can't Tell When I'm Being Pined After" McClain
> 
> Meanwhile, off-screen, Shiro and Coran sip tea and talk shit about Keith's pathetic lovelife.


	5. The Moon's Child

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *lowkey references the Earthsea books*
> 
> 'A Wizard of Earthsea' totally fits Lance's favorite quote of "The hunter becomes the hunted" tbh.
> 
> Also, my own fanart for this chapter can be found on my tumblr (@thejapanesemapletree) under the 'fic: sealed by fate' tag!

Hunk and Shay made most of the conversation at lunch, and that was fine with Keith. They seemed to sense the friction happening between Lance and Keith and did not ask about him, instead talking about subjects such as the new bistro in town or Pidge’s scooter she wanted to tweak. Keith also pointedly remained slightly turned away from Lance in favor of facing Pidge. He did not have to look to know Lance moped while he nibbled on his anchovy pizza, but after his last stunt with Nyma, Keith was in no mood to turn around and go begging for an apology. Lance knew what he did. And if he was too stupid not to, well—damn him.

          Hunk drove Shay back to the ice cream shop and the rest of them back to the Castle of Lions after lunch. Keith in no way wanted to speak to Lance at all, much less hear his reason for coming to bother him at work, but he told Lance in a few words as possible that he could stay until the end of his shift. Lance nodded with his head down so he would not have to meet Keith’s eyes, and he found a spot to sit out of the way by Coran, staring and picking at the concrete floor while Keith and Shiro organized inventory. Shiro noticed Lance’s melancholy and gave Keith one of his disappointed looks, but Keith pretended not to notice. He was not going to be berated over something Shiro understood nothing of.

          As the workday ended, Keith still did not want to talk to Lance, or ask what he wanted for dinner, so he just took them to the gyro place on the way home. Lance pointed to the lamb gyro, and Keith ordered that for him, and they were back on the path home with takeout containers in hand. And as they walked, Lance stayed a few paces behind, conflict shadowing his features as he made footprints in the sand and watched his shadow lengthen across the beach. He was so distracted he almost walked right past Keith’s door, and the smallest tinge of guilt broke through Keith’s icy standoff against his own emotions for causing Lance that much pain.

          Not enough guilt that he was ready to forgive, though.

          They ate dinner in silence, and afterwards Keith decided he was not in the spirits to do his evening surfing because Lance would want to come too. He occupied his evening instead by doing dishes and starting another load of laundry, while Lance lied on the couch and watched TV, a distant look in his eyes. Keith did appreciate Lance putting the couch back together and fixing his bed without being asked, but there was no way he was going to tell him that, at least at the moment. Instead, Keith finished his chores and went into the bathroom to shower.

          Somehow, his shampoo bottle had gone missing, and Keith experienced the other three levels of grief and groaned. The only one to blame had to be Lance. First the couch, now his shampoo? What did he even _do_ with shampoo? Lance had not taken a shower since he had gotten there, and did not seem like he wanted to, and Keith did not know what other use Lance would have for it. Was this Lance’s way of staging a silent protest or something? Did only like it if Keith smelled like ocean scum?

          Fucking Lance. Keith sighed deeply, letting the warm water flow down his head and over his back. He was a load of trouble, there was no denying that, but even as Keith felt the sting of the day’s events linger in his chest, he knew he did not… hate Lance. Although he wanted to—oh, the irrational parts of him _really_ wanted to—Keith could not bring his emotions to actually go through with it: something held him back, far back from the chasm he usually so easily threw himself into. Lance had hurt him, yes, but he could see himself forgiving him, see them once again sitting on the couch while leaning together and Lance laughing until he choked…

          Did Lance think Keith hated him?

          The possibility squeezed Keith’s lungs with panic, and Keith found himself scrambling to shut off the shower and pull on clothes. It would explain why Lance had been so sad instead of angry at him. Unlike their brief spats, Lance must have thought he genuinely did something wrong: which he did, but it was not enough to make Keith _hate_ him. Keith rubbed his hair with a towel, yanking on his shirt and pants over his wet skin.

          Keith did not want Lance to leave because he thought Keith hated him.

          “Lance!”

          Keith stopped short of the living room. Lance lied on the couch, a peaceful look to his face as he slept with his head on one of the throw pillows: so much like the night he came that Keith got another little feeling of guilt.

          “Lance…”

          Keith prevented himself from walking further. No matter how much he wanted to speak to him now, he did not wish to wake Lance, sleeping there on his couch and very much not gone from his life forever. Keith shook his head of damp hair, turning around to walk into his bedroom.

          He supposed the conversation would have to wait.

          Keith could live with that. He retrieved the bedsheets from his room and spread them across Lance, and he turned off the TV and returned to his bedroom. He tried to keep quiet as he found his pillow across the room and settled into bed, his laptop beside him. He sort of missed Lance not being there to surprise him when he woke, but he tried not to think of such things as he put on a movie and reclined back with headphones. After the movie ended, he switched off the laptop and put it away, the bedside lamp clicked off with it. He snuggled down in bed, keeping his mind away from the thoughts of pretty selkie boys and the emptiness of his bed as he drifted off to sleep.

          .

          _“Keith, sweetheart?”_

          Keith remembered his mother. He remembered her and her almost-white hair and almost-white skin. He remembered her blending into the bedsheets and pillows like the moon into the daytime sky: her look as forlorn as the moon there in the pale blue.

          Moon’s child.

          When she felt well enough, Keith would come home from school to find her in the kitchen making caramels or cookies, and she would smile at him with such love, like she was not at risk of fainting or collapsing in a coughing fit at any moment.

          Once, when he was very young, she fainted while she was holding him, and he could remember the frightened voice she had while she fell.

          _“Shiro! Shiro, save him!”_

          Keith was not Shiro: he was not white, he was not silver. He was not planned to be, like Shiro was. He did not have a white streak in his hair from a birthmark to match their mother.

          Keith was dark, and he was unkind, and that’s all he could see when he lied with his mother while she was too weak to walk. He would see the clash of his black hair with her starlight skin, and it would make him feel small and mean and awful. And his mother would just pull him to her chest, stroking the back of his hair and whispering tales from planets and stars no human would ever know.

          Moon’s child.

          She was not meant for this world. Keith knew that. He knew the night Shiro came rushing into his bedroom to hold him close, knew when he saw his father carrying his mother in his arms past the doorway, her eyes closed and head back and arm outstretched like a star fallen. He knew when Shiro hugged him and cried so silently it was like a meteor shower, and when the night with no moon turned to day and his dad came home alone and slumped at the table and put his face in his hands and wept.

          She had gone home.

          Keith did not see much of his father after that. It was just him and Shiro, and now it was just him, alone. Alone except for his memories of what had been.

          _“I never wanted this for you.”_

          He stood on the dock, his mother at the end against the starless indigo sky and purple ocean.

          _“I never wanted you to be so sad.”_

          “Mom…?” Keith reached out to her, and she just stared at him in sorrow. “Mom?”

          Then, a song.

          Now Keith was in his room, surrounded by the dark of night. A song threaded through the air, encircled him, speaking of the day and the night and the forevermore before and after the end of time, of eons lost and gained. It spoke of the moon, and the ocean, and how one pulled and gave against the other in an eternal dance.

          Keith thought it was what one’s heart might sound like.

          A white form appeared in the doorway. Through the distant living room window the nearly full moon glowed, crowing the figure in light. It stepped forward, the song following as it approached Keith, like a ghost in a shroud. Keith sat up in bed. He reached out.

          “M-Mommy?”

          The figure and the song stopped before the foot of his bed. Seconds told by the tick of the clock past between them, and still Keith did not lower his hand, his heart thumping in his chest.

          The figure laughed.

          Or, rather, began to laugh. The figure doubled over itself and laughed so hard they snorted, and by the time they fell to the floor they were absolutely _howling._ Keith let his arm drop to the blanket, crest-fallen and cold from the inside.

          “Oh my god, I— _Jesus, I can’t believe—Holy shit!”_

          Wait.

          That was _not_ his mother’s voice. The heat of anger filled his chest, and Keith shoved off the covers and switched on the lamp. He scrambled to the end of the bed, finding the figure wrapped up in layers of bedsheets and rolling around the floor.

          _Lance._

          Keith’s lips pulled back in a scowl. Lance looked up to him, tears in his eyes, and a whole new round of laughter exploded from his mouth. One arm held his stomach, his other shaking as he pointed towards Keith.

          “Keith—Oh, Keith, your face!”

          _What?_

          “You’re _talking!”_ Keith all but shouted, and Lance only laughed harder. “What the _hell_ , Lance?”

          Lance did not respond amongst his laughing fit, and Keith’s mouth set in a firm line. He laughed until tears rolled down his face and his stomach hurt, but finally, he gained control over himself. He stopped rolling this way and that and paused to take deep breaths. He brushed the tears from his eyes and sat up. He exhaled with his entire body and turned to smile at Keith.

          “I wanted it to be a surprise!” he said, but in a tone that suggested he had just found out he could talk again himself. “Surprise!”

          Keith frowned. “And your best idea of a surprise was to come in here singing?”

          “Selkies are known for their singing voices!” Lance shrugged. “Singing the songs of the sea and all that. Did you have a better idea?”

          Before Keith could answer, the realization dawned and shone in Lance’s eyes. He grinned wider, gripping onto the top of the bedframe.

          “I know, you’re upset because you thought I was your _mom!”_

          Lance sputtered to keep from another laughing fit, and Keith backed away, cheeks burning in embarrassment. Lance smacked down on the bedframe and inhaled sharply to steady himself.

          “Just, oh my god, Keith—that was hilarious!”

          _“Shut up,”_ Keith said through his teeth.

          Undeterred, Lance propped his front half on the bed like a child in whimsy.

          “So, what’s she like?”

          “No, Lance, nope.” Keith sat cross-legged and shook his head. “You’re not changing the subject.”

          “That _is_ the subject.”

          “The subject is why you thought it was okay to come into my room in the middle of the night singing.”

          “No, that’s what you _want_ the subject to be.”

          “I liked you better when you couldn’t talk.”

          “Keith,” Lance whined, and he pulled up all the way onto the bed. “Yet you’re still just as mean.”

          Keith huffed and looked away. He did not owe Lance his kindness. In fact, if anyone, Lance owed him, since he saved him from ingesting crude oil and all that. Who did he think he was?

          Keith bowed over Lance lying flat on his stomach.

          “If you can talk now, you’re going to make use of it and answer my questions.”

          Lance puffed out a sigh and nodded, accepting his fate. Keith leaned back up and crossed his arms.

          “Where did you learn human speech and writing?”

          “That’s easy!” Lance sat up. “My parents! We spend most of our time in the Caribbean, so they wanted me and my siblings to know the languages of the people around there. My sister also lives in Cuba, and I picked up some writing visiting her. I haven’t exactly gone to school, but selkies are not a heathen people, y’know.”

          Keith chose to ignore the jab towards him. He continued:

          “Your sister lives in Cuba?”

          “Yeah, she lives in Varadero Beach,” Lance huffed, then growled. “A fisherman caught her and stole her pelt a couple years ago, and now she’s stuck with him.”

          Keith knew he had touched another nerve, and he swallowed.

          “Oh… She can’t just leave, without her pelt?”

          “No…” Lance puffed out his cheeks as he thought. “It weird—like, you know those stories about the sailors stealing selkie’s pelts and making them their wives? There’s… _something_ with us, our magic, that knows when our pelts have been stolen— _really_ stolen from us. We also become weak if we are far away from our pelts for too long.”

          Lance scowled.

          “He wanted to _skin_ her. He says he sold her pelt a long time ago, but we know he has it around her house somewhere. But, wherever it is, she hasn’t found it.”

          Keith nodded sympathetically, sorry for bringing it up. Lance sighed and pushed back his bangs and managed a smile.

          “Otherwise, it’s fun to come up on land around there for a few weeks. There’s lots of good restaurants, and fun things to do, and all the pretty girls like to go there for summer break!”

          Keith’s throat jumped, and all at once the hostility was back and withering in his chest. Lance saw the reaction and quickly retracted, rubbing the back of his head.

          “Um, people watching is fun when you don’t get to see them very often!” His voice almost cracked. “My little brother especially likes it, because he’s new to the whole thing—let’s see, how old is he? If I’m 18 summers old, and he was born 8 summers after…”

          Keith let his shoulders relax as Lance counted on his fingers. He would set aside his feelings for now, if only to have his questions answered.

          “… So you’re my age.”

          “Oh, really?” Lance stopped his counting and beamed. “At least, I think we’re the same age? I never kept track until a few years ago, sorry.”

          For someone separated from the land and human world for most of his life, the passage of time must have been so different. What did time matter, when the water was always warm and your family always there?

          Keith looked away, to stare at the floor so the stinging in his eyes would stop. Lance made a startled chirp and leaned forward although Keith really wished he would not.

          “Keith, you alright? Is this about the mom thing? Did I dishonor your family in some weird, Texas way?”

          Keith shook his head but did not look up. “No. I’m fine, Lance.”

          Lance reclined on his elbow, his cheek mushed in his hand. His fingers thrummed on his knee, and he bit his bottom lip for a moment.

          “So… What’s your family like?”

          “You’ve met Shiro.”

          “No, I mean—“ Lance began, but Keith spun to him with such ferocity and pain that Lance shut right up. He backed off his elbow, his lips parted and unable to look away from the flaming glint in Keith’s eyes despite the sadness.

          “Oh… You mean your family… is only Shiro.”

          Keith’s face stiffened. He tore his eyes away, almost bitter enough to weep, and Lance felt the panic surge him forward. He held the side of Keith’s face without thinking, his mouth going a mile a minute.

          “I’m so, so sorry, Keith, I— “

          “No,” Keith’s voice came out authoritative, although not unkind. “It’s fine. It doesn’t hurt me anymore.”

          Lance knew it was a lie: a goddamn lie. Nevertheless, Keith took Lance’s hand from his face, instead holding it in his own and looking back to Lance with whatever display of softness almost completely vanished. He gave Lance’s hand a squeeze, and Lance could not describe what he felt right then.

          “Tell me more about what it’s like being a selkie. Like, about your songs.”

          “Oh…” Lance stuttered, and coughed when Keith still had not let go. “You said you didn’t like my singing…”

          “I didn’t say I _disliked_ it, I asked why you thought it was the best to do it while walking into my room at night.”

          Lance flushed. “So, you did like it?”

          “Um…” Keith became acutely aware of Lance’s beautiful blue eyes staring at him, and of their hands together, but he did not feel like letting go. “It was nice… It sounded sort of like what you said: like the ocean, and the sand, and moonlight on water… Like the sound of a heart.”

          “It kinda was.” Lance laughed softly. “It was what my heart was feeling then.”

          Keith did not reply. He did not know what could be said, with them sitting there on his bed half in the yellow light of the lamp and half in the white light of the moon, their hands linked and their eyes locked and their breathing shallow, and so close their legs were almost touching. Keith allowed the hesitation and parted his lips, lost in the eyes still so blue in the shaded light.

          And Lance kissed him.

          It was nothing special: a quick peck of the lips, like what an aquarium seal might be trained to do for trick shows. Lance lurched back as quickly as he came, and Keith just sat there, struck dumb and his brain a ship lost out to a stormy sea. Lance flushed deeper, and he growled at himself, and he leaned back in with more vigor this time, cupping his mouth to Keith’s until a wave came in his mind and crashed the ship down to the ocean floor.

          Now, he felt it.

          He felt the caress of Lance’s breath over his face, and tasted the salty curve of his lips against his own, and felt the deep-seated contentment settle all the way to his stomach, like a shell washed over with sand. He nudged forward, intensifying the kiss, and he felt more than heard the rumble from Lance’s chest. Lance broke the kiss before their teeth would clack. He leaned back to look at the entirety of Keith’s face, and smiled like he did so many times before.

          And Keith had the worst thought he possibility could:

          _This is it, this is all I am to him._

          He saw the images of others in Lance’s face. He saw Allura, and Nyma, and the countless girls who passed through his life with him thinking they were nothing more than something pretty to tease before he returned to the ocean. He saw the way Lance looked at him, saw that smirk and wink he would so readily turn to someone else: someone kinder, someone with better curves and a cute face, someone who would spare him a second more of their time. And after it was all over, Lance could just slip into the sea, the game played and satisfaction stroking his ego.

          Keith was not some toy. He was a person: a person with a fragile heart.

          Keith spoke while still in the dreamy state between them.

          “Is this a game to you?”

          Lance blinked. Keith ripped their hands apart, and Lance had the audacity to look hurt.

          Keith’s voice rose. “Do you think I’m something to be played with?”

          “Keith, I—“ Lance held up his hands in surprise, and Keith unleased a snarl that rivaled his growls.

          “I’m not a fucking toy!” Keith balled his fists in his hair. “You can’t go around teasing me one day, and turn around a flirt with my brother’s girlfriend and the fucking waitress!”

          “… Allura?” Lance’s mind jumped to her, and his eyes went wide. “I didn’t know— “

          _“That’s not the fucking point!”_

          Keith remembered a story his mother told him, about a sailor who left a crying girl in every port. He went about breaking hearts until, one day as he was departing, one of the girls turned into a dragon and ate him alive.

          Well, Keith was going to be the dragon. He was going to be the boy who ate Lance alive.

          “You can’t just go around playing with people’s hearts!” Keith tossed out his arms, and Lance winced as if he had struck him. “You can’t just leave people crying after you while you disappear into the sea! People aren’t just some playthings you can toss aside!”

          “Keith, _please—“_

“I don’t think you understand,” Keith said like he was spitting venom, and he stood from the bed. “Humans can’t pull on a pelt and become something else.”

          He pointed towards himself.

          “We’re left with the consequences of our emotions, and that’s what I think you don’t fucking understand.”

          Lance just stared with fear in his eyes. He said nothing—utterly nothing. And Keith experienced a new, terrifying wave of anger that engulfed his body: that encompassed every wrong, ever offhand hurt, done to him by Lance. He gritted his teeth and lower his head.

          “Leave. Now.”

          Lance made a distraught chirp. He dared: “Keith— “

          “ _I told you to leave!”_

He shouted—shouted in meanness. Lance’s breath caught in his throat, his eyes so frightened and wide Keith could no longer see the pupil. He stared at Keith like he was the dragon, his fiery maul opened to swallow him whole, and he suddenly quivered and skittered to the other side of the bed.

Here he was, some mythical ocean creature cowering before a boy with a bad temper, and the retrieving of his pelt from under the mattress seemed to remind him of this. Calm came to him amidst the panic as he crouched with the pelt, the fur silky and soft and just as he remembered it. He stood with quiet tranquility, and the fact was almost enough to startle Keith from his anger.

“Okay… If you want me to leave, I’ll go.”

He hesitated: long enough for Keith to object, long enough for Keith to come to his senses and tell Lance he did not mean it.

Neither moved.

Lance’s face fell when he realized Keith was not going to say anything. He nodded, only once, and left, by way of the front door. Keith watched him go, feet unmoving and words left unspoken in his throat. He stayed motionless even as the moon spilled all the way to his bedroom and outlined Lance against the purple night, the sea a distant sound and Keith’s heart even more so.

He just fell to his knees when the door clicked shut, his face in his hands and no sound he could make equal to what he felt in that moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *'Like a Motorway' by Saint Etienne plays in the background*


	6. The Purple Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the pain of the last chapter.

Keith convinced himself he was right.

          He did not deserve to be played: to be a passing fad to someone else, a plaything only meant to entertain before he was discarded.

Keith convinced himself he was righteous.

          If Lance had a family out there he lost in a storm, he had no business staying here and fooling around with Keith while they were worrying about him. It was not right.

          The dawn came earlier than expected, and Keith watched from his bedroom floor as the sky became all soft pinks and reds and purples. He blinked softly, his eyes sore from lethargy, but his body so stiff and mind so numb he could not go through with the process of lying down to sleep. He waited there as the light grew and the objects in his home miraged from the shadows. The first slice of the sun poked over the water. Keith knew he had to move sometime.

          Like Shiro told him once, the morning comes whether you set an alarm or not, and one of those mornings is going to be the worst of your life.

          This morning was the worst of his life.

          It was worse than the morning after his mother died, because that time there was nothing he could do. It was not his fault.

          This time was his fault.

          Keith felt his guilt so deeply it was like his bones were poisoned. His head hurt—not simply from lack of sleep, he knew that for sure—and he felt his heartbeat in his throat, and he could not swallow the knot that had built up there. He sat wrapped up in only his pajamas, the floor cold and the bedroom still dark around him.

          But, nevertheless, Keith knew he could not stay there forever. What had happened had happened, and the rest of the night had past, and the morning had come.

          Keith unfurled, and he stood so slowly he felt every creak of his joints and movements of his muscles. He put a hand on the bedframe and looked out over the shadowy room, blinking against the light of the new sun shining through his window. His eyes turned to the base of the bed, and he saw the mussed pile of sheets left there. He stared at the sheets for a long while, his heart quieted enough that he could hear the clock in the kitchen ticking away the seconds. Then, he scowled.

          No: fuck this. Fuck Lance. Keith was not going to be some mopey bitch just because Lance was a dumb motherfucker and finally got what he deserved.

          Keith snatched the sheets from the floor, and his walk was practically a warpath as he made his way from the bedroom to the washer and drier in the kitchen. He threw open the door and shoved the sheets in the washer before marching towards the hamper in the bathroom. He pulled out the extra blanket stained with oil he had been reluctant to clean.

          If Lance was gone, he wanted him _gone._

          He first tried to remove the oil with dish soap like he had done with Lance’s pelt, then tossed the blanket in the washer with the sheets. He was too angry to care that the excess oil might run off and stain the sheets too, and he punched in the cycle and sent the washer spinning. He pulled the load from the night before from the drier and busied himself with putting his clothes away, and he even changed the sheets and pillow cases on his bed and made it up. The sun had now fully breached over the horizon, and Keith switched his attention to the living room.

          He took out the vacuum and swept the floors and couch. Afterwards, he made quick work wiping down all the tables and counters, and he tossed out the fruit Lance had left to brown in the fridge, and he had time to mop the kitchen before his alarm for work chimed from the bedroom. Keith put away all the cleaning stuff and went to turn it off, taking it as his cue to get dressed. He also packed up his bag to leave early.

          Keith _really_ did not want to make breakfast. The thought of him making a meal and sitting there at the table all alone was enough to make him want to puke, and he scowled at himself for that. He knew if he timed it just right he could get to the deli at the grocery store as it opened, and he could also get replacement dish soap and shampoo while he was there. It would be the final act to erase any evidence that Lance had ever been there, and the though gave him an odd sadness instead of a sick satisfaction.

          Keith scowled at himself again. He was not going to let himself get hung up on Lance. He marched for the door with his keys in his hand and his bag on his shoulder, so engrossed in his own anger he startled when he saw dark shapes on his doormat.

          Discovering they were Keith’s discarded shirt and sweatpants only made things worse.

          They sat there in a haphazard pile, two little tokens of parting Lance had stripped from his body and thrown on the doormat. They rested beside a scuffled of sand, where half a footprint led down the ramp to the beach. Keith looked from the clothes to the water, where he could see the pale pink-purple beach in the light of the dawn. And if he looked hard enough, he could swear he saw a line of footprints transform to a wide line in the sand that lend to the water’s edge.

          The terrible sadness returned, and with that, Keith’s anger. He bared his teeth and picked up the clothes, tossing them behind him into the house in a fit of fury.

          “Fuck you,” he spat the words at the shirt and sweatpants.

          He slammed the door behind him.

          .

          Keith’s friends knew the difference between when he did not want to be spoken to, and when _he did not want to be spoken to._

          After he clocked in, Hunk offered him only the tiniest of waves, and then bustled back to the room where they kept the surfing equipment for classes: partway to hide, and partway to organize for the morning classes. He must have told Shiro something about it, or Shiro must have seen something in Hunk’s face, because he came to the front and went straight for Keith. Keith made a point by ignoring him while he prepared the register and Shiro just stood there, but that was not to last. Shiro’s frowned and folded his hands atop the counter.

          “What’s the matter?”

          Still, Keith did not reply. He bowed under the counter and froze when Shiro spoke again.

          “Keith.”

          He used his Big Brother Voice, the kind that still made Keith’s heart stop for a second like he had been caught doing something wrong. Keith sighed and leaned up.

          “Nothing,” he answered for the sake of making Shiro go away, exasperated. “I’m fine.”

          Shiro gave Keith one of his disappointed looks that honestly just made Keith want to scream. Shiro was not his dad. Fuck off.

          “Where’s Lance?”

          “Not here, _obviously,”_ Keith used the sarcastic and standoffish tone Shiro hated on purpose. However, Shiro kept himself under control.

          “Keith… Did he leave?”

          Keith said nothing: he felt nothing. He fed the roll of quarters to the register, and Shiro pressed again.

          _“Keith.”_

          And suddenly the anger was back. Keith slammed the drawer back into the register and gave Shiro a glare to rival all glares.

          “Yeah, he did, alright? What does it matter?”

          Keith was a hair’s breadth from outright exploding. Shiro saw it in his eyes, and he remained calm even as Keith quaked with rage. He took a step back to give Keith his space and smoothed his features.

          “Okay…” his voice was softer now. “I’m sorry.”

          “Whatever,” Keith huffed and ducked back under the counter. “I don’t care.”

          Shiro heard the quiet pain behind his words. He moved to speak again, but stopped and shook his head, instead telling Keith farewell and returning to the back room. Keith made sure he was gone before he stood back up.

          Keith’s poor attitude did not abate throughout the day. He had absolutely no interest in being kind to customers, and he only did so because he did not want Coran or Allura on his tail too, and because Hunk and Shiro were busy for most of the day with surfing classes. Keith spent part of the morning reorganizing the kites hanging up on the back wall, and he noticed the surfboard with the blue waves he had hung up the other day was gone. He wondered for a moment who had bought it, then cursed at himself for caring. What did it matter what happened to some tacky surfboard?

          Keith took his lunch early, so Shiro would not have free time to hound him again, and he returned to find Pidge clocked in for her shift after her summer classes at the community center. She also noticed his mood, and she offered him a small assuring smile, and he had to bite back the urge to scoff and turn away. He simply nodded to her and went to check the t-shirt piles. Pidge had done nothing to deserve his spite.

          Everyone respected Keith’s desire not to talk as the workday drew to a close, and as Keith packed up to leave, he found he was reluctant to go—to return alone to nothing but an empty house, with the memory of what had transpired there. Keith was so bitter with the feeling that he forced it away, and he swung his bag on his shoulder with such violence it ripped two of the band-aids off his arm. Keith swore at himself aloud.

          He figured he might as well finish the process, and walked to the nearest trashcan to tear off the rest. What had been cuts were now long, nail-shaped scabs, and Keith regretted taking off the band-aids as soon as he got a good look at them. The sight reminded him of the night but two days ago, of the dark and sound and finding Lance so helpless near the dock. It reminded him of the morning after, when he awoke with Lance staring at him and how he thought he had never seen such beautiful blue eyes.

          Keith wanted the scabs to heal so he could finally forget.

          Or, that is what he convinced himself he wanted. Keith peered into the trashcan after the band-aids, a forlorn look on his face.

          “Keith.”

          Keith jolted. He spun around to see who had caught him, but then his face set into a frown.

          “Shiro.”

          Shiro stood a little ways in front of the doorway, the keyring with the keys to the store in one hand. He glanced briefly between Keith and the trashcan, and settled his eyes on Keith’s face, despite his nasty look. Shiro crossed his arms, letting the keys hang out of one elbow. They jingled against the burn wounds long waxed over with scars.

          “Why did Lance leave?”

          Of course Shiro would wait for everyone to leave so he could come in here and ask that. Keith huffed and turned his face away, having the motivation to leave now, but Shiro blocked his exit. He crossed his arms also: a childish, pitiful standoff against the older brother.

          “He wanted to.”

          “No,” Shiro’s voice held an edge. “Details. What happened between you two?”

          Keith’s throat contracted, but he did his best to make sure it did not show outwardly. Keith shifted his weight and kept his eyes on the opposite wall.

          Keith muttered under his breath, “It’s really none of your fucking business.”

          _“Keith,”_ Shiro’s voice was even firmer now. “It’s my ‘fucking business’ if you continue to act this way.”

          Keith had to keep his face from contorting in pain. He loved Shiro, and respected him a lot, and he really, really hated when they got into fights like this. He wanted Shiro to mind his own damn business. He was an adult now, not some child who only had his big brother around to scold him like when they were kids. He did not need Shiro to confront him about problems he knew nothing of, and he did not need to be preached to by a leader with no one to lead but him.

          Even if Keith knew deep down it was for the best, he hated when Shiro made him face his problems.

          Keith dug his fingers into his arm. If only to get Shiro to move aside, he said:

          “… We had a fight, and he left.”

          Shiro’s shoulders relaxed slightly. They were getting somewhere.

          “About?”

          Keith dug in his fingers harder. He wanted to bite his lip, but refrained.

          “I told him to leave. I told him I wasn’t something to toy with.”

          Shiro’s brow quirked. “Something to toy with?”

          “That playing with my heart wasn’t some fucking game.”

          “Ah…” Shiro relaxed more. Then: “You liked him.”

          “What does it matter?” Keith outright scowled now. “It’s not like he liked me back. He flirted with two other girls while he was here, so I told him if he doesn’t understand why he shouldn’t toy with people, then he should just leave.”

          “Keith…” Shiro sighed; he knew Keith too well. “Did you try to talk it out? See what he had to say?”

          Keith smacked a piece of his hair out of his eyes. “I don’t care what he had to say.”

          Shiro pinched between his eyes. “Did you just blow up on him, then? Without letting him get a word in edgewise?”

          “Like I said: I don’t care what he had to say.”

          Shiro sighed with his whole body this time. “You’re too impulsive—you can’t just blow up on people like that. Did you ever consider that maybe he didn’t see it your way: that maybe he had an explanation for his actions? You’re not exactly an open person, so maybe he didn’t know your feelings on the matter.”

          “He still shouldn’t have flirted with me, and then turned his attention to two other people, no matter what my feelings are. It isn’t right.”

          “Keith, he stayed with _you.”_

          Keith turned away from the wall, just enough to eye Shiro sideways. Shiro shook his head.

          “You never take a moment to clear your head and think. Lance chose to stay with _you._ Lance liked _you—_ to what degree, I don’t know him enough to say. But, remember that Lance could have chosen to leave at any time, and yet he enjoyed your company enough to stay with you for two days. He even hid behind you when I visited and missed you enough yesterday to come pick you up and stayed here although you were mad at him. He gave you a lot he didn’t have to give, Keith.”

          Keith felt the tears: felt them, and blinked them away. He forced his eyes away again, and he stared at the place on the wall until the feeling passed and his throat unknotted. He coughed, and then fixed his bag on his shoulder, whirling to Shiro with such sudden violence that Shiro blinked. The emotion in his eyes was too shadowy to read, but the message in his voice came out clear.

          “Whatever,” he said hoarsely. “He’s gone now, so it doesn’t matter.”

          Keith shoved his way past Shiro. He left through the front door, and Shiro heard the bell and the slam along the way. He hesitated a moment before sighing again, uncrossing his arms and shaking his head.

          Too impulsive by far.

          .

          Keith knew he had messed up.

          He sat curled up on his couch, the TV on for only the noise, and his forehead rested against his knees. He had a lot he did not want to think over again, and he did not need something on the TV to remind him.

          He had done the very thing he did not want to. Keith had made Lance leave because he though Keith hated him.

          Lance had stayed with _him;_ Lance had trusted _him._ Lance had chosen to eat breakfast with _him,_ to go to the beach with _him,_ to snuggle on the couch with _him._ Lance had taken all the pillows and made a nest on his bed because _he_ was there, because Lance wanted to be close to _him._

          Lance kissed _him._

          Keith bit down on his lip, shaking the thoughts from his mind once again. They only served to remind him that he could not do anything about it now—that Lance had gone, forever—and that hurt worse than anything.

          Keith knew he had really, really messed up.

          He needed a distraction—yes! A distraction! Something to take his mind away from his feelings until they sorted themselves out. Something to show himself he could get over his mistakes, and that life would go on.

          He needed to pretend that he would get over it.

          Keith lifted his head from his knees. He scanned his eyes across the living room, until they fell on his surfboard leaning by the door.

          Perfect.

          He could always trust surfing to take his mind off his troubles: on the water, he could almost imagine the shore behind him did not exist. No one would bother him out there. It was like he chose to be alone.

          Keith switched off the TV and hurried to change, replacing his awful thoughts with the motions of getting his bag and making sure the lights were off and the door was locked shut behind him. The sun was already going down, the bottom curve nearly joint with the ocean, but he was too determined to let the coming night stop him. He reached his surfing spot and put his bag on the sand, taking just enough time to tether his surfboard to his wrist before turning to the water. In the fading light, the ocean looked afire, with red waves breaching the surface like flames and the warmth as he entered the water like blood. Every trace of blue had been lost to the setting sun, and Keith sat up on his surfboard to view the terrible violence around him. It was almost like the very ocean was dying with the sun, and an odd, mourning grief came to Keith’s heart.

          No, he was alright. He was alright because he was going to surf, and surfing always made everything okay.

          Keith stood on his surfboard, riding the next flaming wave to the shore, and riding the movement of the surf out again. He repeated the motions as the ocean devoured the sun, as the light in the water turned to veins of purple that ran deep under the darkening water. The moon came out from the shroud and Keith did not notice, not until the water had killed the sun and he was left with nothing but the memory of the red sunlight, and the purple it had become.

          Keith saw the image of the full moon on the water, and he realized he had stayed out too long.

          He sat on his surfboard, no longer able to see clearly how far he was paddling out towards the horizon. A breeze brushed his back and he shivered, the air and the water growing cool around him. He rubbed his arms and looked back, towards the distant beach, knowing he should turn back and go home, where it was warm and he was safe. He knew trusting the temper of the ocean at night was not wise, and he felt the presence of the moon like some godly eye judging him from the sky.

          The fantasy was done. He had stayed too long.

          Keith turned back towards the horizon slowly, a hollow and sad and awful feeling in his chest. He kept his eyes on the dark shape of the board below him, the lap of the water around him no longer a comfort, and his breathing so low for a moment he thought he would faint.

          He said but one word.

          “Fuck.”

          Then, he wept, in absolute bitter sorrow, all alone in the expanse of the ocean and under the light of the moon. He bowed over himself, his tears flowing from his eyes no matter how hard he tried to make them stop, and whatever sound he made lost to the depths of the water. He covered his face with his hands to no avail, the tears slipping through his fingers and splashing with utter indifference into the water. They dripped down his mouth and chin, and wiping them away with his wet arm did nothing to help. He pressed his forehead to the surfboard.

          “Oh, god—I’m sorry, _I’m sorry.”_

          He did not know who he said it to: to Lance, to himself, to the moon looking down at him. The words echoed oddly off the surface of the surfboard, and hearing them in such a weak voice only made Keith squeeze his hands against his face harder.

He had no desire to know what he sounded like so upset. His heart would not be able to take it.

Keith burrowed closer to the surfboard. He was so wrapped up that he almost did not notice the noise, far out in the water.

A chirp.

Keith shot up on the surfboard, his nerves in a sudden fray and his hands rived from his face. He looked out across the water, his vison blurred and doubt in his mind, but his heart too hopeful to care. He wiped at his eyes to get a better look. He could not see much in the dark, but if he squinted hard enough, maybe he could just make out something: a wave that did not move, a place where the moonlight did not shift with the water.

A shape with bright twinkles like eyes.

“… Lance?”

Keith’s voice was no more than a whisper. He reached out his arm, and the shape did not move.

“Lance?”

His voice was more forceful now. He reached further.

“Lan--?”

He lost his balance and went crashing into the ocean. The salt water burned his eyes, and he thrashed once before he collected his wits and let his body relax in the water. His heart thrummed in his ears, and he exhaled to calm it, the bubbles trailing upwards. He saw the surface outlined in the light of the moon, and the long shadow of his surfboard bobbing along in. Keith pinched his eyes shut, and he forced himself to blink them open again despite the pain.

Above him, he saw his surfboard and what was not his surfboard.

What was not his surfboard bowed, twirling and sinking lower, until it escaped the blindness of the light. It eased towards Keith, and Keith saw its face: a whiskered mouth and round nose and wrinkled brow and eyes shiny like coins.

A seal.

Lance.

Keith choked, and bubbles burst from his mouth and water shot up his nose. Lance looked panicked, even with his seal face, and he darted under Keith. Keith felt him knock against him with his long body, and soon he breached the surface beside his surfboard. He coughed, and took in a gulp of air, only to use it to hack again. He clutched to his surfboard, and the body under him lowered, and he felt the current under him as he moved to the other side of the board. When he came up, his form was now human, and the ruffle of his seal pelt rested on his shoulders.

Keith tried to speak through his coughing, “ _L-Lance.”_

Lance blinked in surprise at being addressed in such a way. He then frowned and got a determined look in his eyes, reaching across the surfboard to touch Keith’s hand.

“Are you okay?”

His fingers were warm, and Keith felt the light caress of his fingernails as he rubbed over his knuckles. A deep peace settled within him at the touch. He nodded, and Lance sighed in relief. He did not move his hand.

“Thank god.”

Keith’s coughing subsided, and they just stared at each other for a while: Keith not knowing what to say, and Lance not knowing how he would respond. Keith was also transfixed with how beautiful he was, there in the white light of the moon and purple backdrop of the night.

Like how Lance sung, Keith spoke from his heart.

“Lance, I’m sorry.”

Lance gaped. Briefly, he could only blink, and he leaned his head back and groaned. He snapped his head up and inched closer across the surfboard, close enough that Keith could see him pout.

“I wanted to say that first!” he whined. “It’s always the rogue, handsome guy who says it in the movies! I had a whole speech planned out, too!”

Keith watched him throw out his free hand dramatically.

“I would say: ‘Oh, Keith, please understand that I came back for _you!_ Breaking your heart was never my intention, and I am deeply sorry for whatever pain I caused you. I did not know my feelings were reciprocated, and I only hope that you can forgive me!’ Then we would kiss, and I’d sweep you up in my arms.”

Lance froze like he was flushing, the last part probably not meant to come out. Keith sighed, and then chuckled softly, perhaps amused a little by Lance wanting them to reunite like some romantic drama. He snatched Lance’s hand under his own and gave it a squeeze that made him chirp.

“… You’re pathetic, you know that?”

Lance whined again, and he sunk down to hide the blush Keith could not see anyway. Keith squeezed his hand again. He made sure he looked into his eyes.

“But… Lance, I really am sorry.” Keith’s voice grew softer as he spoke, and Lance perked. “I shouldn’t have exploded on you like that and told you to leave. I wasn’t fair to you.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Lance waved his other hand. “I mean: I understand it must have hurt seeing someone you like flirting with other people, and then think they turned their attention to you just because you were there. I wasn’t very considerate of you, and that’s my fault.”

Now Keith flushed. He almost did not want to look Lance in the eye, but forced himself not to glance away.

“Is that why you came back?”

          Lance looked like the sentiments were getting to him too. He rubbed the back of his head.

          “That’s part of the reason, yeah. I didn’t want to leave without apologizing to you, and I thought you might be regretting what happened by now. You also asked me not to leave without saying goodbye, and I didn’t want to break that promise.”

          Keith had completely forgotten about that. Lance averted his eyes and rubbed the back of his head again, viewing the line of moonlight on the water.

          “You also, um, sort of called for me.”

          Keith’s eyebrow rose. Lance dipped lower, their joint hands the only thing keeping him up.

          “Um, with your tears.”

          The words took Keith a moment to process. Then, he jerked up so suddenly he almost fell back into the water.

          _“What?”_

          “I’m magic!” Lance reminded him, and looked a little hurt at the outburst. “I felt your tears in the water, and I figured I should come to you. I don’t want you to be sad!”

          Keith pressed his face on the surfboard and groaned. Not only had Lance heard him cry, but _it summoned him to come comfort him._

          “… _Jesus.”_

          “Yeah…” Lance muttered. “And let me tell you, it wasn’t easy convincing my mom I should come back, especially since I just got back to her and everyone else. She gets uneasy when we’re separated and not around the western part of Cuba, because she feels it’s safest there.”

          “Wait—you swam _here_ from _Cuba_ that _quickly?”_

          “I’m _magic!”_ Lance repeated. “If I ask the ocean, it will take me where I want to go. That’s how I found my family in the first place!”

          “No,” Keith deadpanned. “There’s no fucking way.”

          “Keith!” Lance cried. “I literally just turned into a human in front of you, and _that’s_ the part you don’t believe?”

          Fair. Very fair. Lance sighed and shook his head, having to unlatch their hands so he could move to the front of the board.

          “I think all that choking messed with your brain… We should get you back to shore.”

          Sure, says the selkie boy who just turned into a human after swimming across the Gulf of Mexico because he sensed his crush crying into the water. Lance pushed the board until Keith could touch the bottom, and Keith took over carrying his surfboard under his arm to the shore. He found the shape of his bag in the dark and perched his surfboard in the sand beside there, fishing out his towel and keys. Keith offered Lance the towel to wrap around his waist, and Keith held his pelt while he did, and gave it back after he was done. The trust Lance had for him not to keep his pelt reminded Keith of the morning after they met, and a warm affection flowered in his chest. Keith could just see Lance smile at him by the light of the moon, and he swore Lance quirked an eyebrow.

          “So, I got that ride I wanted…” he said, and Keith groaned; the look had not been his imagination. “Am I going to get that kiss?”

          He leaned forward, and Keith flushed so deeply he was glad Lance could not see. He sputtered, and Lance laughed, backing off as Keith lowered his eyes.

          “It’s alright, if you— “

          Keith gripped his shoulders, and before Lance could even chirp, their mouths were together. Keith pressed in for a moment and pulled back, and he donned a smirk of his own as Lance stared with his mouth still open. Keith took his face in his hands and looked at him in more of his typical seriousness.

          “There. Happy? Don’t think you’re going to get to sweep me in your arms though.”

          Lance blinked. Then, his brain returned to his body, and a chirp came from his throat. He took Keith’s hands from his face and held them together in his own. He looked up, like he was mulling over something.

          “… Okay,” he considered. “But, I think if you won’t let me carry you, then you own me another kiss.”

          Keith huffed. He pulled Lance in again, and he felt Lance hum in his throat when they kissed.

          That time, he knew it was the beginning of a song. It was what Lance’s heart felt like.

          .

          “Aw, you look just like her!”

          Lance waved the picture before Keith: one of Keith and his mother and Shiro under a beach umbrella during a sunset barbeque that Shiro kept at his house. Keith huffed and turned away from the picture.

          “No, I really don’t.”

          “Yes, you do!” Lance insisted. “You have her eyes—they’re, like, almost purple.”

          “Whatever.”

          Keith crossed his arms. Lance chirped and rubbed their cheeks together.

          “Aw, c’mon, babe, you know I love you!”

          Keith sighed at the childish smushing of cheeks. Then:

          “And I love you.”

          .

          Lance looked from Keith to the surfboard, his mouth opened wide. Keith shifted uncomfortably.

          “Um… Surprise?”

          He held out the surfboard with blue wave designs. Lance took it into his hands, his mouth still open and eyes wide.

          “I thought the shop sold it a long time ago.” Keith tucked a piece of hair behind his ear. “But, Shiro just took it down to repair the fin. I didn’t notice it before, but it has a blue lion like the red lion on mine, so I figured— “

          “I love it!”

          Keith jumped at Lance’s loudness. Lance leaned around the board, sparkles in his eyes.

          “You bought this for _me?_ You’re going to teach _me_ how to surf?”

          “Yeah.” Keith offered a small smile. “I’m sure you’ll learn in no time. It can be something we do together.”

          “Aw, you’re so sweet,” Lance cooed, and Keith did not know if he wanted to gag or blush. “You’re the sweetest boyfriend _ever.”_

          Keith did the latter and flushed. He stared at his feet and the sand around them.

          “… I try.”

          And that’s all Lance could ever ask.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know that part of the selkie myth where fishermen's wives cry into the sea and get selkie bfs.
> 
> Keith gets a selkie bf.


End file.
